




s .\ O J 

^ ^ ^o. 






> 

/- 

/ •" ^ 

\ / 

^ a \ 



0 ‘ 

« 



-V> S / ^'/- 0 N 0 \V 


'i' t' rvO 





^ 


^ 0 kO^ ^ 8 l A 

^ ^ r .<3 ^ * 

^ ,^'^'^ ■ - ' 
iP \> a 





-j'v'n.xj’ ■ V,*' ■^’ •> 

feS ^ -k oV 


r^ 

% 

V 

o 

71 

o 



4 

o 


• r '% * ’ " " 

<1 4 > 




xP 


0 4 > V 


^ O V' ^ ^ V < 

aC> ^ 

, 0 ^ C ° " '• « . ^ .-jN' 


0 V 


\SN 


^ ^ c 

?\ ■< o rv^ 


o o' 


1 O o^ ^ . 


V 'Q*' oTo^'’ . 

"> “' , 0 '=‘ '"°'" \ ^\’- 

\ «? A = -s^. 





^ " s'’ ' 

,s ^0* v-^ *0 


A* <P if 'A 

A'^ % 



v^' 




vO 



_ ■» 



. 0 c» 

\ X^‘ ✓» 












, , , ^ 0 N 0 


“o^ ° 


'x < 1 r * y »* ^ 

H « ^ M 0 ^ \^ 




/' vV’ 

V .< V 


V > . . ^ 0 « X "* .'X> 

,j'^ * A •> 

- >^ a o'* a 

'" ° %'* A 

> \v c(- 

C> . ' 0 N 0 

V ^ « 




A’ ' ✓ •> 












2 -- ' . 




r.Ar '■ - ^ ' 

r JIP'4 

4 n . y . • 

-Ut,,.. 

y . . , ;■ •4'^ : . . r*:au' • 



V 


a • 


•« 


# 


.4? -V# 

■TrTJ^*- 


t • 


•ic 


J. 

4 


t . 4 .' 

^ ’ ‘i ic. 

■ * “^'V f 

'■ ■• ' ' » 

. -* V^'ji 

* *■ * '% 







^ 

^4 


. j‘-’ 


V-. - •_ f - »'' ^ 


s^ . 


A 

4 






4 4 


r* 

f '-ii , V / ;, 

y.. !» .■»■ ■ . *f y"' 

'■ r\^- 

m . ^. 



' #• 


Idf , '•♦ 


J' 


■» 


. •- , ' N''^ Vr-’. 








^ i v.'^TaSE 


:;-, •. •' ■'> '.*•■_ V ■ 'fi-'- .. -OKn >f • \.Si 


14 O' 





• . * . y*- 



« j i 


. s 


KL^r »vV4/( f . ‘ ^f*' \ ^ 

• • **' ^ 'iJiTja ■ .iM^: 


•*% 






• I 



^ »i • 


A- CfS 




4« ' v> i ■ '• ■■ 






* ^ , *', <■* *-4/*'** *"» 



mi A 








Day after day the trail herd plodded slowly to the North 

Frontispiece. Seepage 13. 




cow- CO UNTRY 




BY 

B. M. BOWER c. 
(ijiMJtJi£U ( ^ rVyoJlcuJtj 

WITH FRONTISPIECE 

BY 

FRANK TENNY JOHNSON 



BOSTON 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
1921 




Copyright^ ig2i^ 

By Little, Brown, and Company. 

All rights reserved 
Published January, 1921 


I j (921 

KoTfaosoIi $tr0S 

Set up and electrotyped by J. S. Cushing Co. 
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 


■§)CU604923 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I An Ambitious Man-Child Was Buddy . i 


II 

The Trail Herd . 




13 

'III 

Some Indian Lore 




25 

IV 

Buddy Gives Warning 




30 

V 

Buddy Runs True to Type 




39 

VI 

The Young Eagle Must Fly 




52 

VII 

Bud Flips a Coin with Fate 




63 

VIII 

The Muleshoe 




75 

rx 

Little Lost .... 




87 

X 

Bud Meets the Woman 




lOI 

XI 

Guile against the Wily . 




no 

XII 

Sport o’ Kings 




123 

XIII 

The Sinks .... 




136 

XIV 

Even Mushrooms Help 




148 

XV 

Why Bud Missed a Dance 




159 

XVI 

While the Going ’s Good . 




174 

XVII 

Guardian Angels Are Riding 

“Point” 


188 

XVIII 

The Catrock Gang 




196 

XIX 

Bud Rides Through Catrock and 

Loses 



Marian .... 




212 

XX 

“Pick Your Footing!” 




225 

XXI 

Trails End .... 




239 




COW-COUNTRY 


CHAPTER ONE 

An Ambitious Man-Child Was Buddy 

In hot mid afternoon when the acrid, gray dust- 
cloud kicked up by the listless plodding of eight thou- 
sand cloven hoofs formed the only blot on the hard 
blue above the Staked Plains, an ox stumbled and fell 
awkwardly under his yoke, and refused to scramble up 
when his negro driver shouted and prodded him with 
the end of a willow gad. 

Call your master, Ezra,’’ directed a quiet woman- 
voice gone weary and toneless with the heat and two 
restless children. “ Don’t beat the poor brute. He 
can’t go any farther and carry the yoke, much less pull 
the wagon.” 

Ezra dropped the gad and stepped upon the wagon 
tongue where he might squint into the dust cloud and 
decide which gray, plodding horseman alongside the 
herd was Robert Birnie. Far across the sluggish river 
of grimy backs, a horse threw up its head with a pecu- 
liar sidelong motion, and Ezra’s eyes lightened with 
recognition. That was the colt. Rattler, chafing 
against the slow pace he must keep. Hands cupped 
around big, chocolate-colored lips and big, yellow- 


2 


Cow-Country 

white teeth, Ezra whoo-ee-ed the signal that called the 
nearest riders to the wagon that held the boss’s family. 

Bob Birnie and another man turned and came trot- 
ting back, and at the call a scrarnbling youngster peered 
over his mother’s shoulder in the forward opening of 
the prairie schooner. 

“ O-oh, Dulcie ! We gonna git a wile cow agin ! ” 

Dulcie was asleep and did not answer, and the 
woman in the slat sun-bonnet pushed back with her el- 
bow the eager, squirming body of her eldest. “ Stay 
in the wagon. Buddy. Mustn’t get down amongst 
the oxen. One might kick you. Lie down and take 
a nap with sister. When you waken it will be nice and 
cool again.” 

Not s’eepy!” objected Buddy for the twentieth 
time in the past two hours. But he crawled back, and 
his mother, relieved of his restless presence, leaned 
forward to watch the approach of her husband and the 
cowboy. This was the second time in the past two 
days that an ox had fallen exhausted, and her eyes 
showed a trace of anxiety. With the feed so poor and 
the water so scarce, it seemed as though the heavy 
wagon, loaded with a few household idols too dear to 
leave behind, a camp outfit and the necessary clothing 
and bedding for a woman an^ two children, was going 
to be a real handicap on the drive. 

** Robert, if we had another wagon, I could drive it 
and make the load less for these four oxen,” she sug- 
gested when her husband came up. “ A lighter wagon, 
perhaps with one team of strong horses, or even with a 
yoke of oxen, I could drive well enough, and relieve 
these poor brutes.” She pushed back her sun-bonnet 
and with it a mass of red-brown hair that curled 


Ambitious Child Was Buddy 3 

damply on her forehead, and smiled disarmingly. 
‘‘ Buddy would be the happiest baby boy alive if I 
could let him drive now and then ! ” she added humor- 
ously. 

“ Can’t make a wagon and an extra yoke of oxen 
out of this cactus patch,” Bob Birnie grinned good- 
humoredly. “Not even to tickle Buddy. I ’ll see 
what I can do when we reach Olathe. But you won’t 
have to take a man’s place and drive. Lassie.” He 
took the cup of water she drew from a keg and prof- 
fered — water was precious on the Staked Plains, that 
season — and his eyes dwelt on her fondly while he 
drank. Then, giving her hand a squeeze when he re- 
turned the cup, he rode back to scan the herd for an 
animal big enough and well-conditioned enough to sup- 
plant the worn-out ox. 

“Aren’t you thirsty, Frank Davis? I think a cup 
of water will do you good,” she called out to the cow- 
boy, who had dismounted to tighten his forward cinch 
in expectation of having to use his rope. 

The cowboy dropped stirrup from saddle horn and 
came forward stiff-leggedly, leading his horse. His 
sun-baked face, grimed with the dust of the herd, was 
aglow with heat, and his eyes showed gratitude. A 
cup of water from the hand of the boss’s wife was 
worth a gallon from the barrel slip-slopping along in 
the lurching chuck-wagon. 

“ How ’s the kids makin’ out. Mis’ Birnie? ” Frank 
inquired politely when he had swallowed the last drop 
and had wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 
“ It ’s right warm and dusty t’day.” 

“ They ’re asleep at last, thank goodness,” she an- 
swered, glancing back at a huddle of pink calico that 


^ Cow-Country 

showed just over the crest of a pile of crumpled quilts. 

“ Buddy has a hard time of it. He ’s all man in his 
disposition, and all baby in size. He ’s been teasing 
to walk with the niggers and help drive the drag. Is 
my husband calling? ” 

Her husband was, and Frank rode away at a lei- 
surely trot. Haste had little to do with trailing a herd, 
where eight miles was called a good day’s journey and 
six an average achievement. The fallen ox was un- 
yoked by the mellow-voiced but exasperated Ezra, and 
since he would not rise, the three remaining oxen, 
urged by the gad and Ezra’s upbraiding, swung the 
wagon to one side and moved it a little farther after 
the slow-moving herd, so that the exhausted animal 
could rest, and the raw recruit be yoked in where he 
could do the least harm and would the speediest learn 
a new lesson in discomfort. Mrs. Birnie glanced again 
at the huddle of pink in the nest of quilts behind a be- 
loved chest of drawers in the wagon, and sighed with 
relief because Buddy slept. 

An ambitious man-child already was Buddy, accus- 
tomed to certain phrases that, since he could toddle, 
had formed inevitable accompaniment to his investi- 
gative footsteps. “ L’k-out-dah ! ” he had for a long 
time believed to be his name among the black folk of 
his world. White folk had varied it slightly. He 
knew that Run-to-mother-now ” meant that some- 
thing he would delight in but must not watch was going 
to take place. Spankings more or less official and not 
often painful signified that big folks did not under- 
stand him and his activities, or were cross about some- 
thing. Now, mother did not want him to watch the 
wild cow run and jump at the end of a rope until finally 


Ambitious Child Was Buddy 5 

forced to submit to the ox-yoke and help pull the 
wagon. Buddy loved to watch them, but he under- 
stood that mother was afraid the wild cow might step 
on him. Why she should want him to sleep when he 
was not sleepy he had not yet discovered, and so dis- 
dained to give it serious consideration. 

** Not s’eepy,” Buddy stated again emphatically as 
a sort of mental dismissal of the command, and 
crawled carefully past Sister and lifted a flap of the 
canvas cover. A button — the last button — popped 
off his pink apron and the sleeves rumpled down over 
his hands. It felt all loose and useless; so Buddy 
stopped long enough to pull the apron off and throw 
it beside Sister before he crawled under the canvas 
flap and walked down the spokes of a rear wheel. He 
did not mean to get in the way of the wild cow, but 
he did want action for his restless legs. He thought 
that if he went away from the wagon and the herd 
and played while they were catching the wild cow, it 
would be just the same as if he took a nap. Mother 
had n’t thought of it, or she might have suggested it. 

So Buddy went away from the wagon and down 
into a shallow dry wash where the wild cow would not 
come, and played. The first thing he saw was a scor- 
pion — nasty old bug that will bite hard — and he 
threw rocks at it until it scuttled under a ledge out of 
sight. The next thing he saw that interested him at 
all was a horned toad; a hawn-iot, he called it, after 
Ezra’s manner of speaking. Ezra had caught a hawn- 
toe for him a few days ago, but it had mysteriously 
disappeared out of the wagon. Buddy did not con- 
nect his mother’s lack of enthusiasm with the disap- 
pearance. Her sympathy with his loss had seemed 


6 


Cow-Country 

to him real, and he wanted another, fully believing 
that in this also mother would be pleased. So he took 
after this particular hawn-ioty that crawled into vari- 
ous hiding places only to be spied and routed out with 
small rocks and a sharp stick. 

The dry wash remained shallow, and after a while 
Buddy, still in hot pursuit of the horned toad, emerged 
upon the level where the herd had passed. The wagon 
was nowhere in sight, but this did not disturb Buddy. 
He was not lost. He knew perfectly that the brown 
cloud on his narrowed horizon was the dust over the 
herd, and that the wagon was just behind, because the 
wind that day was blowing from the southwest, and 
also because the oxen did not walk as fast as the herd. 
In the distance he saw the “ drag ” moving lazily along 
after the dust-cloud, with barefooted niggers driving 
the laggard cattle and singing dolefully as they walked. 
Emphatically Buddy was not lost. 

He wanted that particular horned toad, however, 
and he kept after it until he had it safe in his two 
hands. 

It happened that when he pounced at last upon the 
toad he disturbed with his presence a colony of red 
ants on moving day. The close ranks of them, coming 
and going in a straight line, caught and held Buddy’s 
attention to the exclusion of everything else — save 
the horned toad he had been at such pains to acquire. 
He tucked the toad inside his underwaist and ignored 
its wriggling against his flesh while he squatted in the 
hot sunshine and watched the ants, his mind one great 
question. Where were they going, and what were 
they carrying, and why were they all in such a hurry ? 

Buddy had to know. To himself he called it a trail 


Ambitious Child Was Buddy y 

herd — but father’s cattle did not carry white lumps 
of stuff on their heads, and furthermore, they all 
walked together in the same direction; whereas the 
ant herd traveled both ways. Buddy made sure of 
this, and then started off, following what he had de- 
cided was the real trail of the ants. Most children 
would have stirred them up with a stick; Buddy let 
them alone so that he could see what they were doing 
all by themselves. 

The ants led him to a tiny hole with a finely pulver- 
ized rim just at the edge of a sprawly cactus. This 
last Buddy carefully avoided, for even at four years 
old he had long ago learned the sting of cactus thorns. 
A rattlesnake buzzed warning when he backed away, 
and the shock to Buddy’s nerves roused within him 
the fighting spirit. Rattlesnakes he knew also, as the 
common enemy of men and cattle. Once a steer had 
been bitten on the nose and his head had swollen up so 
he could n’t eat. Buddy did not want that to happen 
to him. 

He made sure that the homed toad was safe, chose 
a rock as large as he could lift and heave from him, 
and threw it at the buzzing, gray coil. He did not wait 
to see what happened, but picked up another rock, a 
terrific buzzing sounding stridently from the coil. He 
threw another and another with all the force of his 
healthy little muscles. For a four-year-old he aimed 
well; several of the rocks landed on the coil. 

The snake wriggled feebly from under the rocks 
and tried to crawl away and hide, its rattles clicking 
listlessly. Buddy had another rock in his hands and 
in his eyes the blue fire of righteous conquest. He went 
close — close enough to have brought a protesting 


8 


Cow-Country 

cry from a grownup — lifted the rock high as he 
could and brought it down fair on the battered head 
of the rattler. The loathsome length of it winced 
and thrashed ineffectively, and after a few minutes 
lay slack, the tail wriggling aimlessly. 

Buddy stood with his feet far apart and his hands 
on his hips, as he had seen the cowboy do whom he 
had unconsciously imitated in the killing. 

Snakes like Injuns. Dead ’ns is good ’ns,” he 
observed sententiously, still playing the part of the 
cowboy. Then, quite sure that the snake was dead, 
he took it by the tail, felt again of the horned toad on 
his chest and went back to see what the ants were 
doing. 

When so responsible a person as a grownup stops 
to watch the orderly activities of an army of ants, 
minutes and hours slip away unnoticed. Buddy was 
absolutely fascinated, lost to everything else. When 
some instinct born in the very blood of him warned 
Buddy that time was passing, he stood up and saw 
that the sun hung just above the edge of the world, 
and that the sky was a glorious jumble of red and 
purple and soft rose. 

The first thing Buddy did was to stoop and study 
attentively the dead snake, to see if the tail still 
wiggled. It did not, though he watched it for a full 
minute. He looked at the sun — it had not “ set ” 
but glowed big and yellow as far from the earth as 
his father was tall. Ezra had lied to him. Dead 
snakes did not wiggle their tails until sundown. 

Buddy looked for the dust cloud of the herd, and 
was surprised to find it smaller than he had ever seen 
it, and farther away. Indeed, he could only guess that 


Ambitious Child Was Buddy 9 

the faint smudge on the horizon was the dust he had 
followed for more days than he could count. He was 
not afraid, but he was hungry and he thought his 
mother would maybe wonder where he was, and he 
knew that the point-riders had already stopped push- 
ing the herd ahead, and that the cattle were feeding 
now so that they would bed down at dusk. The chuck- 
wagon was camped somewhere close by, and old Step- 
and-a-Half, the lame cook, was stirring things in his 
Dutch ovens over the camp-fire. Buddy could almost 
smell the beans and the meat stew, he was so hungry. 
He turned and took one last, long look at the endless 
stream of ants still crawling along, picked up the dead 
snake by the tail, cupped the other hand over the 
horned toad inside his waist, and started for camp. 

After a while he heard someone shouting, but beyond 
a faint relief that he was after all near his “ outfit ”, 
Buddy paid no attention. The boys were always 
shouting to one another, or yelling at their horses or 
at the herd or at the niggers. It did not occur to him 
that they might be shouting for him, until from an- 
other direction he heard Ezra’s unmistakable, booming 
voice. Ezra sang a thunderous baritone when the 
niggers lifted up their voices in song around their 
camp-fire, and he could be heard for half a mile when 
he called in real earnest. He was calling now, and 
Buddy, stopping to listen, fancied that he heard his 
name. A little farther on, he was sure of it. 

*‘Ooo-ee! Whah y’ all. Buddy? Ooo-eee!” 

“ I ’m a-comin’,” Buddy shrilled impatiently. 
“ What y’ all want ? ” 

His piping voice did not carry to Ezra, who kept on 
shouting. The radiant purple and red and gold above 


lo Cow-Country 

him deepened, darkened. The whole wild expanse of 
half-barren land became suddenly a place of unearthly 
beauty that dulled to the shadows of dusk. Buddy 
trudged on, keeping to the deep-worn buffalo trails 
which the herd had followed and scored afresh with 
their hoofs. He could not miss his way — not Buddy, 
son of Bob Birnie, owner of the Tomahawk outfit — 
but his legs were growing pretty tired, and he was 
so hungry that he could have sat down on the ground 
and cried with the gnawing food-call of his empty 
little stomach. 

He could hear other voices shouting at intervals 
now, but Ezra’s voice was the loudest and the closest, 
and it seemed to Buddy that Ezra never once stopped 
calling. Twice Buddy called back that he was a-comin’, 
but Ezra shouted just the same: '' Ooo-ee! Whah 
y 2\\, Buddy? Ooo-ee!^' 

Imperceptibly dusk deepened to darkness. A gust 
of anger swept Buddy’s soul because he was tired, be- 
cause he was hungry and he was yet a long way from 
the camp, but chiefly because Ezra persisted in calling 
after Buddy had several times answered. He heard 
someone whom he recognized as Frank Davis, but by 
this time he was so angry that he would not say a 
word, though he was tempted to ask Frank to take 
him up on his horse and let him ride to camp. He 
heard others — and once the beat of hoofs came quite 
close. But there was a wide streak of Scotch stub- 
bornness in Buddy — along with several other Scotch 
streaks — and he continued his stumbling progress, 
snake by the tail, his other hand holding 
fast the horned toad. 

His heart jumped up and almost choked him when 


Ambitious Child Was Buddy 1 1 

he first saw the three twinkles on the ground which 
he knew were not stars but camp-fires. 

Quite unexpectedly he trudged into the firelight 
where Step-ahd-a-Half was stirring delectable things 
in the iron pots and stopping every minute or so to 
stare anxiously into the gloom. Buddy stood blinking 
and sniffing, his eyes fixed upon the Dutch ovens. 

I ’m hungry!” he announced accusingly, gripping 
the toad that had begun to squirm at the heat and 
light. I kilt a snake an^ I ’m hungry!” 

“ Good gorry ! ’’ swore Step-and-a-Half, and 
whipped out his six-shooter and fired three shots into 
the air. 

Footsteps came scurrying. Buddy’s mother swept 
him into her arms, laughing with a little whimpering 
sound of tears in the laughter. Buddy wriggled pro^ 
testingly in her arms. 

“L’kout! Y’ all skush ’im! I got a hawn-ioty 
wight here.” He patted his chest gloatingly. “ An’ 
I got a snake. I kilt ’im. An’ I ’m hungry” 

Mother of Buddy though she was. Lassie set him 
down hurriedly and surveyed her man-child from a. 
little distance. 

Buddy ! Drop that snake instantly ! ” 

Buddy obeyed, but he planted a foot close to his kill 
and pouted his lips. “ ’S my snake. I kilt ’im,” he 
said firmly. He pulled the horned toad from his 
waist-front and held it tightly in his two hands. An 
’s my hawn-toe. I ketched ’m. ’Way ova dere,” he 
added, tilting his tow head toward the darkness be- 
hind him. 

Bob Birnie rode up at a gallop, pulled up his horse 
in the edge of the fire glow and dismounted hastily. 


1 2 Cow-Country 

Bob Bimie never needed more than one glance to 
furnish him the details of a scene. He saw the very 
small boy confronting his mother with a dead snake, 
a horned toad and a stubborn set to his lips. He saw 
that the mother looked rather helpless before the com- 
bination — and his brown mustache hid a smile. He 
walked up and looked his first-born over. 

'' Buddy,’’ he demanded sternly, ‘‘ where have you 
been? ” 

“ Out dere. Kilt a snake. Ants was trailing a 
herd. I got a hawn-tot. An’ I ’m hungry ! ” 

You know better than to leave the wagon, young 
man. Did n’t you know we had to get out and hunt 
you, and mother was scared the wolves might eat you? 
Did n’t you hear us calling you ? Why did n’t you 
answer ? ” 

Buddy looked up from under his baby eyebrows at 
his father, who seemed very tall and very terrible. But 
his bare foot touched the dead snake and he took com- 
fort. “ I was cornin’,” he said. “ I was n^t los’. I 
bringed my snake and my hawn-toe. An’ dey — 
was n^t — any — woluffs ! ” The last word came muf- 
fled, buried in his mother’s skirts. 


CHAPTER TWO 


The Trail Herd 

Day after day the trail herd plodded slowly to the 
north, following the buffalo trails that would lead to 
water, and the crude map of one who had taken a herd 
north and had returned with a tale of vast plains and 
no rivals. Always through the day the dust cloud 
hung over the backs of the cattle, settled into the 
clothes of those who followed, grimed the pink aprons 
of Buddy and his small sister Dulcie so that they were 
no longer pink. Whenever a stream was reached, 
mother searched patiently for clear water and an un- 
trampled bit of bank where she might do the family 
washing, leaving Ezra to mind the children. But 
even so the dust and the wear and tear of travel re- 
mained to harass her fastidious soul. 

Buddy remembered that drive as he could not re- 
member the comfortable ranch house of his earlier 
babyhood. To him afterward it seemed that life 
began with the great herd of cattle. He came to know 
just how low the sun must slide from the top of the 
sky before the ‘‘ point ” would spread out with noses 
to the ground, pausing wherever a mouthful of grass 
was to be found. When these leaders of the herd 
stopped, the cattle would scatter and begin feeding. 
If there was water they would crowd the banks of the 


14 Cow-Country 

stream or pool, pushing and prodding one another with 
their great, sharp horns. Later, when the sun was 
gone and dusk crept out of nowhere, the cowboys 
would ride slowly around the herd, pushing it quietly 
into a smaller compass. Then, if Buddy were not too 
sleepy, he would watch the cattle lie down to chew their 
cuds in deep, sighing content until they slept. It re- 
minded Buddy vaguely of when mother popped corn 
in a wire popper, a long time ago — before they all 
lived in a wagon and went with the herd. First one 
and two — then there would be three, four, five, as 
many as Buddy could count — then the whole herd 
would be lying down. 

Buddy loved the camp-fires. The cowboys would 
sit around the one where his father and mother sat — 
mother with Dulcie in her arms — and they would 
smoke and tell stories, until mother told him it was 
time little boys were in bed. Buddy always wanted 
to know what they said after he had climbed into the 
big wagon where mother had made a bed, but he never 
found out. He could remember lying there listening 
sometimes to the niggers singing at their own camp- 
fire within call, Ezra always singing the loudest, — 
just as a bull always could be heard above the bellow- 
ing of the herd. 

All his life, Ezra’s singing and the monotonous bel- 
lowing of a herd reminded Buddy of one mysteriously 
terrible time when there weren’t any rivers or any 
ponds or anything along the trail, and they had to be 
careful of the water and save it, and he and Dulcie 
were not asked to wash their faces. I think that 
miracle helped to fix the incident indelibly in Buddy’s 
mind; that, and the bellowing of the cattle. It seemed a 


The Trail Herd 


15 

month to Buddy, but as he grew older he learned that 
it was three days they went without water. 

The first day he did not remember especially, except 
that mother had talked about clean aprons that night, 
and failed to produce any. The second he recalled 
quite clearly. Father came to 'the wagons sometime in 
the night to see if mother was asleep. Their mur- 
mured talk wakened Buddy and he heard father say: 
“We 'll hold ’em, all right. Lassie. And there ’s 
water ahead. It ’s marked on the trail map. Don’t you 
worry — I ’ll stay up and help the boys. The cattle 
are uneasy — but we ’ll hold ’em.^’ 

The third day Buddy never forgot. That was the day 
when mother forgot that q stands for Quagga, and 
permitted Buddy to call it />, just for fun, because it 
looked so much like p. And when he said “ w is 
water ”, mother made a funny sound and said right 
out loud, “ Oh God, please ! ” and told Buddy to creep 
back and play with Sister — when Sister was asleep, 
and there were still Xy y and z to say, let alone that 
mysterious And-so-forth which seemed to mean so 
much and so little and never was called upon to help 
spell a word. Never since he began to have lessons 
had mother omitted a single letter or cut the study 
hour down the teeniest little bit. 

Buddy was afraid of something, but he could not 
think what it was that frightened him. He began to 
think seriously about water, and to listen uneasily to 
the constant lowing of the herd. The increased shout- 
ing of the niggers driving the lagging ones held a 
sudden significance. It occurred to him that the nig- 
gers had their hands full, and that they had never 
driven so big a “ drag.” It was hotter than ever, too, 


1 6 Cow-Country 

and they had twice stopped to yoke in fresh oxen. 
Ezra had boasted all along that ole Bawley would 
keep his end up till they got clah to Wyoming. But 
ole Bawley had stopped, and stopped, and at last had 
to be taken out of the yoke. Buddy began to wish they 
would hurry up and find a river. 

None of the cowboys would take him on the saddle 
and let him ride, that day. They looked harassed — 
Buddy called it cross — when they rode up to the 
wagon to give their horses a few mouthfuls of water 
from the barrel. Step-and-a-Half could n’t spare any 
more, they told mother. He had declared at noon that 
he needed every drop he had for the cooking, and there 
would be no washing of dishes whatever. Later, 
mother had studied a map and afterwards had sat for 
a long while staring out over the backs of the cattle, 
her face white. Buddy thought perhaps mother was 
sick. 

That day lasted hours and hours longer than any 
other day that Buddy could remember. His father 
looked cross, too, when he rode back to them. Once 
it was to look at the map which mother had studied. 
They talked together afterwards, and Buddy heard 
his father say that she must not worry; the cattle had 
good bottom, and could stand thirst better than a poor 
herd, and another dry camp would not really hurt 
anyone. 

He had uncovered the water barrel and looked in, 
and had ridden straight over to the chuck-wagon, his 
horse walking alongside the high seat where Step-and- 
a-Half sat perched listlessly with a long-lashed ox- 
whip in his hand. Father had talked for a few min- 
utes, and had ridden back scowling. 


The Trail Herd 


17 

“ That old scoundrel has got two ten-gallon kegs 
that have n’t been touched ! ” he told mother. Yo’ all 
mustn’t water any more horses out of your barrel. 
Send the boys to Step-and-a-Half. Yo’ all keep what 
you ’ve got. The horses have got to have water — 
to-night it ’s going to be hell to hold the herd, and if 
anybody goes thirsty it ’ll be the men, not the horses. 
But . yo’ all send them to the other wagon, Lassie. 
Mind, now! Not a drop to anyone.” 

After father rode away, Buddy crept up and put 
his two short arms around mother. “ Don’t cry. I 
don’t have to drink any water,” he soothed her. He 
waited a minute and added optimistically, “ Dere ’s a 
hi-ig wiver cornin’ pitty soon. Oxes smells water a 
hunerd miles. Ezra says so. An’ las’ night Grumpy 
was snuffin’ an’ snuffin’. I saw ’im do it. He smelt a 
hig wiver. That bi-ig!” He spread his short arms 
as wide apart as they would reach, and smiled tremu- 
lously. 

Mother squeezed Buddy so hard that he grunted. 

“ Dear little man, of course there is. We don’t 
mind, do we ? I — was feeling sorry for the poor 
cattle.” 

De ’re firsty,” Buddy stated solemnly, his eyes 
big. De ’re bawlin’ fer a drink of water. I guess 
de ’re awful firsty. Dere ’s a big wiver cornin’ now. 
Grumpy smelt a big wiver.” 

Buddy’s mother stared across the arid plain parched 
into greater barrenness by the heat that had been un- 
remitting for the past week. Buddy’s faith in the big 
river she could not share. Somehow they had drifted 
off the trail marked on the map drawn by George 
Williams. 


1 8 Cow-Country 

Williams had warned them to carry as much water, 
as possible in barrels, as a precaution against suffering 
if they failed to strike water each night. He had told 
them that water was scarce, but that his cowboy scouts 
and the deep-worn buffalo trails had been able to 
bring him through with water at every camp save two 
or three. The Staked Plains, he said, would be the 
hardest drive. And this was the Staked Plains 
and it was hard driving! 

Buddy did not know all that until afterwards, when 
he heard father talk of the drive north. But he would 
have remembered that day and the night that followed, 
even though he had never heard a word about it. 
The bawling of the herd became a doleful chant of 
misery. Even the phlegmatic oxen that drew the 
wagons bawled and slavered while they strained for- 
ward, twisting their heads under the heavy yokes. 
They stopped oftener than usual to rest, and when 
Buddy was permitted to walk with the perspiring 
Ezra by the leaders, he wondered why the oxen’s eyes 
were red, like Dulcie’s when she had one of her crying 
spells. 

At night the cowboys did not tie their horses and 
sit down while they ate, but stood by their mounts and 
bolted food hurriedly, one eye always on the restless 
cattle, that walked around and around, and would 
neither eat nor lie down, but lowed incessantly. Once 
a few animals came close enough to smell the water in 
a bucket where Frank Davis was watering his sweat- 
streaked horse, and Step-and-a-Half’s wagon was al- 
most upset before the maddened cattle could be driven 
back to the main herd. 

No use camping,” Bob Birnie told the boys gath- 


The Trail Herd 


19 

ered around Step-and-a-Half’s Dutch ovens. “ The 
cattle won’t stand. We’ll wear ourselves and them 
out trying to hold ’em — they may as well be hunting 
water as running in circles. Step-and-a-Half, keep 
your cooked grub handy for the boys, and yo’ all pack 
up and pull out. We ’ll turn the cattle loose and fol- 
low. If there ’s any water in this damned country 
they ’ll find it.” 

Years afterwards, Buddy learned that his father 
had sent men out to hunt water, and that they had not 
found any. He was ten when this was discussed 
around a spring roundup fire, and he had studied the 
matter for a few minutes and then had spoken boldly 
his mind. 

‘'You oughta kept your horses as thirsty as the 
cattle was, and I bet they ’d a’ found that water,” he 
criticized, and was sent to bed for his tactlessness. 
Bob Birnie himself had thought of that afterwards, 
and had excused the oversight by saying that he had 
depended on the m^p, and had not foreseen a three- 
day dry drive. 

However that may be, that night was a night of 
panicky desperation. Ezra walked beside the oxen 
and shouted and swung his lash, and the oxen strained 
forward bellowing so that not even Dulcie could 
sleep, but whimpered fretfully in her mother’s arms. 
Buddy sat up wide-eyed and watched for the big 
river, and tried not to be a ’f raid-cat and cry like 
Dulcie. 

It was long past starry midnight when a little wind 
puffed out of the darkness and the oxen threw up their 
heads and sniffed, and put a new note into their 
“ M-haw-aw-aw-mm ! ” They swung sharply so that 


20 


Cow-Country 

the wind blew straight into the front of the wagon, 
which lurched forward with a new impetus. 

‘‘ Glo-ory t' Gawd, Missy ! Dey smells watah, sho 's 
yo’ bawn ! ” sobbed Ezra as he broke into a trot beside 
the wheelers. Tain’t fur — lookit dat-ah huhd 
a-goin’ it! No ’m. Missy, dey ain’t woah out — dey 
smellin’ watah an’ dey ’m gittin’ to it! ’Tain’t fur, 
Missy.” 

Buddy clung to the back of the seat and stared 
round-eyed into the gloom. He never forgot that 
lumpy shadow which was the herd, traveling fast in 
dust that obscured the nearest stars. The shadow 
humped here and there as the cattle crowded forward at 
a shuffling half trot, the c/fc^-swash of their shambling 
feet treading close on one another. The rapping tattoo 
of wide-spread horns clashing against wide-spread 
horns filled him with a formless terror, so that he let go 
the seat to clutch at mother’s dress. He was not afraid 
of cattle — they were as much a part of his world as 
were Ezra and the wagon and the camp-fires — but he 
trembled with the dread which no man could name for 
him. 

These were not the normal, everyday sounds of the 
herd. The herd had somehow changed from plodding 
animals to one overwhelming purpose that would 
sweep away anything that came in its path. Two 
thousand parched throats and dust-dry tongues — and 
suddenly the smell of water that would go gurgling 
down two thousand eager gullets, and every interven- 
ing second a cursed delay against which the cattle 
surged blindly. It was the mob spirit, when the mob 
was fighting for its very existence. 

Over the bellowing of the cattle a yelling cowboy 


The Trail Herd 


2 I 

now and then made himself heard. The four oxen 
straining under their yokes broke into a lumbering 
gallop lest they be outdistanced by the herd, and Dul- 
cie screamed when the wagon lurched across a dry 
wash and almost upset, while Ezra plied the ox-whip 
and yelled frantically at first one ox and then another, 
inventing names for the new ones. Buddy drew in his 
breath and held it until the wagon rolled on four wheels 
instead of two, — but he did not scream. 

Still the big river did not come. It seemed to 
Buddy that the cattle would never stop running. Tan- 
gled in the terror was Ezra’s shouting as he ran along- 
side the wagon and called to Missy that it was dat 
ole Grumpy actin’ the fool ”, and that the wagon 
would n’t upset. “No ’m, dey ’s jest in a hurry to git 
dere fool haids sunk to de eyes in dat watah. Dey 
ain’t aimin’ to run away — no ’m, dish yer ain’t no 
stampede ! ” 

Perhaps Buddy dozed. The next thing he remem- 
bered, day was breaking, with the sun all red, seen 
through the dust. The herd was still going, but now 
it was running and somehow the yoked oxen were 
keeping close behind, lumbering along with heads held 
low and the sweat reeking from their spent bodies. 
Buddy heard dimly his mother’s sharp command to 
Ezra : 

“ Stand back, Ezra ! We ’re not going to be caught 
in that terrible trap. They ’re piling over the bank 
ahead of us. Get away from the leaders. I am going 
to shoot.” 

Buddy crawled up a little higher on the blankets 
behind the seat, and saw mother steady herself and 
aim the rifle straight at Grumpy. There was the 


2 2 Cow-Country 

familiar, deafening roar, the acrid smell of black pow- 
der smoke, and Grumpy went down loosely, his nose 
rooting the trampled ground for a space before the gun 
belched black smoke again and Grumpy’s yoke-mate 
pitched forward. The wagon stopped so abruptly 
that Buddy sprawled helplessly on his back like an 
overturned beetle. 

He saw mother stand looking down at the wheelers, 
that backed and twisted their necks under their yokes. 
Her lips were set firmly together, and her eyes were 
bright with purple hollows beneath. She held the 
rifle for a moment, then set the butt of it on the 
“ jockey box ” just in front of the dashboard. The 
wheelers, helpless between the w^eight of the wagon 
behind and the dead oxen in front, might twist their 
necks off but they could do no damage. 

“ Unyoke the wheelers, Ezra, and let the poor 
creatures have their chance at the water,” she cried 
sharply, and Ezra, dodging the horns of the frantic 
brutes, made shift to obey. 

Fairly on the bank of the sluggish stream with its 
flood-worn channel and its treacherous patches of 
quicksand, the wagon thus halted by the sheer nerve 
and quick- thinking of mother became a very small 
island in a troubled sea of weltering backs and tossing 
horns and staring eyeballs. Riders shouted and lashed 
unavailingly with their quirts, trying to hold back the 
full bulk of the herd until the foremost had slaked 
their thirst and gone on. But the herd was crazy for 
the water, and the foremost were plunged headlong 
into the soft mud where they mired, trampled under 
the hoofs of those who came crowding from behind. 

Someone shouted, close to the wagon yet down the 


The Trail Herd 


23 

bank at the edge of the water. The words were in- 
distinguishable, but a warning was in the voice. On 
the echo of that cry, a man screamed twice. 

“Ezra!” cried mother fiercely. “It’s Frank 
Davis — they Ve got him down, somehow. Climb 
over the backs of the cattle — there ’s no other way — 
and get him! ” 

“ Yas ’m. Missy ! ” Ezra called back, and then 
Buddy saw him go over the herd, scrambling, jump- 
ing from back to back. 

Buddy remembered that always, and the funeral 
they had later in the day, when the herd was again 
just trail- weary cattle feeding hungrily on the scanty 
grass. Down at the edge of the creek the carcasses of 
many dead animals lay half-buried in the mud. Up 
on a little knoll where a few stunted trees grew, the 
negroes dug a long, deep hole. Mother’s eyes were 
often filled with tears that day, and the cowboys 
scarcely talked at all when they gathered at the chuck- 
wagon. 

After a while they all went to the hole which the 
negroes had dug, and there was a long Something 
wrapped up in canvas. Mother wore her best dress, 
which was black, and father and all the boys had 
shaved their faces and looked very sober. The negroes 
stood back in a group by themselves, and every few 
minutes Buddy saw them draw their tattered shirt- 
sleeves across their faces. And father — Buddy 
looked 6nce and saw two tears running down father’s 
cheeks. Buddy was shocked into a stony calm. He, 
had never dreamed that fathers ever cried. 

Mother read out of her Bible, and all the boys held 
their hats in front of them, with their hands clasped. 


24 


Cow-Country 

and looked at the ground while she read. Then mother 
sang. She sang, '‘We shall meet beyond the river 
which Buddy thought was a very queer song, because 
they were all there but Frank Davis; then she sang 
“ Nearer, My God, to Thee.” Buddy sang too, piping 
the notes accurately, with a vague pronunciation of 
the words and a feeling that somehow he was helping 
mother. 

After that they put the long, canvas-wrapped Some- 
thing down in the hole, and mother said “ Our Father 
Who Art in Heaven ”, with Buddy repeating it un- 
certainly after her and pausing to say /r^fApatheth ” 
very carefully. Then mother picked up Dulcie in her 
arms, took Buddy by the hand and walked slowly 
back to the wagon, and would not let him turn to see 
what the boys were doing. 

It was from that day that Buddy missed Frank 
Davis, who had mysteriously gone to Heaven, accord- 
ing to mother. Buddy’s interest in Heaven was ex- 
tremely keen for a time, and he asked questions which 
not even mother could answer. Then his memory of 
Frank Davis blurred. But never his memory of that 
terrible time when the Tomahawk outfit lost five hun- 
dred cattle in the dry drive and the stampede for 
water. 


CHAPTER THREE 


Some Indian Lore 

Buddy knew Indians as he knew cattle, horses, 
rattlesnakes and storms — by having them mixed in 
with his everyday life. He could n’t tell you where or 
when he had learned that Indians are tricky. Perhaps 
his first ideas on that subject were gleaned from the 
friendly tribes who lived along the Chisolm Trail and 
used to visit the chuck-wagon, their blankets held 
close around them and their eyes glancing everywhere 
while they grinned and talked and pointed — and ate. 
Buddy used to sit in the chuck-wagon, out of harm’s 
way, and watch them eat. 

Step-and-a-Half had a way of entertaining Indians 
which never failed to interest Buddy, however often 
he witnessed it. When Step-and-a-Half glimpsed In- 
dians coming afar off, he would take his dishpan and 
dump into it whatever scraps of food were left over 
from the preceding meal. He used to say that In- 
dians could smell grub as far as a buzzard can smell 
a dead carcase, and Buddy believed it, for they always 
arrived at meal time or shortly afterwards. Step- 
and-a-Half would make a stew, if there were scraps 
enough. If the gleanings were small, he would use 
the dishwater — he was a frugal man — and with that 
for the start-off he would make soup, which the In- 


2 6 Cow-Country 

dians gulped down with great relish and many gurgly 
sounds. 

Buddy watched them eat what he called pig-dinner. 
When Step-and-a-Hal£ was not looking he saw them 
steal whatever their dirty brown hands could readily 
snatch and hide under their blankets. So he knew 
from very early experience that Indians were not to 
be trusted. 

Once, when he had again strayed too far from 
camp, some Indians riding that way saw him, and one 
leaned and lifted him from the ground and rode off 
with him. Buddy did not struggle much. He saved 
his breath for the long, shrill yell of cow-country. 
Twice he yodled before the Indian clapped a hand over 
his mouth. 

Father and some of the cowboys heard and came 
after, riding hard and shooting as they came. Buddy’s 
pink apron fluttered a signal flag in the arms of his 
captor, and so it happened that the bullets whistled 
close to that particular Indian. He gathered a hand- 
ful of calico between Buddy’s shoulders, held him aloft 
like a puppy, leaned far over and deposited him on 
the ground. 

Buddy rolled over twice and got up, a little dizzy 
and very indignant, and shouted to father, ‘‘ Shoot a 
sunsyguns ! ” 

From that time Buddy added hatred to his distrust 
of Indians. 

From the time when he was four until he was thir- 
teen Buddy’s life contained enough thrills to keep a 
movie-mad boy of to-day sitting on the edge of his 
seat gasping enviously through many a reel, but to 
Buddy it was all rather humdrum and monotonous. 


Some Indian Lore 


27 


What he wanted to do was to get out and hunt buffalo. 
Just herding horses, and watching out for Indians, 
and killing rattlesnakes was what any boy in the 
country would be doing. Still, Buddy himself achieved 
now and then a thrill. 

There was one day, when he stood heedlessly on a 
ridge looking for a dozen head of lost horses in the 
draws below. It was all very well to explain missing 
horses by the conjecture that the Injuns must have 
got them, but Buddy happened to miss old Rattler 
with the others. Rattler had come north with the trail 
herd, and he was wise beyond the wisdom of most 
horses. He would drive cattle out of the brush with- 
out a rider to guide him, if only you put a saddle on 
him. He had helped Buddy to mount his back — 
when Buddy was much smaller than now — by lower- 
ing his head until Buddy straddled it, and then lifting 
it so that Buddy slid down his neck and over his with- 
ers to his back. Even now Buddy sometimes mounted 
that way when no one was looking. Many other 
lovable traits had Rattler, and to lose him would be a 
tragedy to the family. 

So IBuddy was on the ridge, scanning all the deep 
little washes and draws, when a bullet ping-g-ged over 
his head. Buddy caught the bridle reins and pulled 
his horse into the shelter of rocks, untied his rifle from 
the saddle and crept back to reconnoitre. It was the 
first time he had ever been shot at — except in the 
army posts, when the Indians had ‘‘broken out”, — and 
the aim then was generally directed toward his vicin- 
ity rather than his person. 

An Indian on a horse presently appeared cautiously 
from cover, and Buddy, trembling with excitement, 


28 


Cow-Country 

shot wild; but not so wild that the Indian could afford 
to scoff and ride closer. After another ineffectual 
shot at Buddy, he whipped his horse down the ridge, 
and made for Bannock creek. 

Buddy at thirteen knew more of the wiles of In- 
dians than does the hardiest Indian fighter on the 
screen to-day. Father had warned him never to 
chase an Indian into cover, where others would prob- 
ably be waiting for him. So he stayed where he was, 
pretty well hidden in the rocks, and let the bullets he 
himself had run ” in father’s bullet-mold follow the 
enemy to the fringe of bushes. His last shot knocked 
the Indian off his horse — or so it looked to Buddy. 
He waited for a long time, watching the brush and 
thinking what a fool that Indian was to imagine Buddy 
would follow him down there. After a while he saw 
the Indian’s horse climbing the slope across the creek. 
There was no rider. 

Buddy rode home without the missing horses, and 
did not tell anyone about the Indian, though his 
thoughts would not leave the subject. 

He wondered what mother would think of it. 
Mother’s interests seemed mostly confined to teaching 
Buddy and Dulcie what they were deprived of learn- 
ing in schools, and to play the piano — a wonderful 
old square piano that had come all the way from Scot- 
land to the Tomahawk ranch, the very frontier of the 
West. 

Mother was a wonderful woman, with a soft voice 
and a slight Scotch accent, and wit; and a knowledge 
of things which were little known in the wilderness. 
Buddy never dreamed then how strangely culture was 
mixed with pure savagery in his life. To him the 


Some Indian Lore 29 

secret regret that he had not dared ride into the bushes 
to scalp the Indian he believed he had shot, and the 
fact that his hands were straining at the full chords of 
the Anvil Chorus on that very evening, was not even 
to be considered unusual. Still, certain strains of that 
classic were always afterward associated in his mind 
with the shooting of the Indian — if he had really 
shot him. 

While he counted the time with a conscientious re- 
gard for the rests, he debated the wisdom of telling 
mother, and decided that perhaps he had better keep 
that matter to himself, like a man. 


CHAPTER FOUR 


Buddy Gives Warning 

Buddy swung down from his horse, unsaddled it and 
went staggering to the stable wall with the burden of a 
stock-saddle much too big for him. He had to stand 
on his boot-toes to reach and pull the bridle down 
over the ears of Whitefoot, which turned with an air 
of immense relief into the corral gate and the hay 
piled at the further end. Buddy gave him one pre- 
occupied glance and started for the cabin, walking 
with the cowpuncher’s peculiar, bowlegged gait which 
comes of wearing chaps and throwing out the knees to 
overcome the stiffness of the leather. At thirteen 
Buddy was a cowboy from hat-crown to spurs — and 
at thirteen Buddy gloried in the fact. To-day, how- 
ever, his mind was weighted with matters of more 
importance than himself. 

“ The Utes are having a war-dance, mother,” he 
announced when he had closed the stout door of the 
kitchen behind him. “ They mean it this time. I 
lay in the brush and watched them last night.” He 
stood looking at his mother speculatively, a little grin 
on his face. “ I told you you can’t change an Injun 
by learning him to eat with a knife and fork,” he 
added. Colorou ain’t any whiter than he was be- 
fore you set out to learn him manners. He 
hoppin’ higher than any of ’em.” 


was 


Buddy Gives Warning 31 

Teach, Buddy, not learn. You know better than 
to say ‘ learn him manners.’ ” 

** Teach him manners,” Buddy corrected himself 
obediently. I was thinking more about what I saw 
than about grammar. Where ’s father ? I guess I ’d 
better tell him. He ’ll want to get the stock out of the 
mountains, I should think.” 

“ Colorou will send me word before they take the 
warpath,” mother observed reassuringly. He always 
has. I gave him a whole pound of tea and a blue 
ribbon the last time he was here.” 

Yes, and the last time they broke out they got 
away with more ’n a hundred head of cattle. You got 
to Laramie, all right, but he did n’t tell father in time 
to make a roundup back in the foothills. They ’re 
dancing, mother ! ” 

“ Well, I suppose we ’re due for an outbreak,” 
sighed mother. “ Colorou says he can’t hold his young 
men off when some of the tribe have been killed. He 
Iiimself does n’t countenance the stealing and the occa- 
sional killing of white men. There are bad Indians 
and good ones.” 

“ I know a couple of good ones,” Buddy murmured 
as he made for the wash basin. It ’s the bad ones 
that were doing the dancing, mother,” he flung over 
his shoulder. And if I was you I ’d take Dulcie and 
the cats and hit for Laramie. Colorou might get 
busy and forget to send word ! ” 

“ If I was you? ” Mother came up and nipped his 
ear between thumb and finger. “ Robert, I am dis- 
couraged over you. All that I teach you in the winter 
seems to evaporate from your mind during the summer 
when you go out riding with the boys.” 


32 Cow-Country 

Buddy wiped his face with an up-and-down motion 
on the roller towel and clanked across to the cupboard 
which he opened investigatively. “Any pie?” he 
questioned as he peered into the corners. Say, if I 
had the handling of those Utes, mother, I ’d fix ’em 
so they would n’t be breaking out every few months 
and making folks leave their homes to be pawed over 
and burnt, maybe.” He found a jar of fresh dough- 
nuts and took three. 

“They’ll tromp around on your flower-beds — it 
just makes me sick when I think how they ’ll muss 
things up around here! I wish now,” he blurted un- 
thinkingly, “that I hadn’t killed the Injun that stole 
Rattler.” 

“Buddy! Not you?'' His mother made a swift 
little run across the kitchen and caught him on his lean, 
hard-muscled young shoulders. “You — yon baby! 
What did you do? You didn’t harm an Indian, did 
you, laddie?” 

Buddy tilted his head downward so that she could 
not look into his eyes. “ I dunno as I harmed him — 
much,” he said, wiping doughnut crumbs from his 
mouth with one hasty sweep of his forearm. “ But 
his horse came outa the brush, and he never. I guess 
I killed him, all right. Anyway, mother, I had to. 
He took a shot at me first. It was the day we lost 
Rattler and the bronks,” he added accurately. 

Mother did not say anything for a minute, and 
Buddy hung his head lower, dreading to see the hurt 
look which he felt was in her eyes. 

“ I have to pack a gun when I ride anywhere,” he 
reminded her defensively. “ It ain’t to balance me on 
the horse, either. If Injuns take in after me, the gun ’s 


Buddy Gives Warning 33 

SO I can shoot. And a feller don’t shoot up in the air 

— and if an Injun is hunting trouble he oughta ex- 
pect that maybe he might get shot sometime. You — 
you would n’t want me to just run and let them catch 
me, would you ? ” 

Mother’s hand slipped up to his head and pressed it 
against her breast so that Buddy heard her heart beat- 
ing steady and sweet and true. Mother was n’t afraid 

— never, never! 

I know — it ’s the dreadful necessity of defending 
our lives. But you ’re so young — just mother’s baby 
man ! ” 

Buddy looked up at her then, a laugh twinkling in 
his eyes. After all, mother understood. 

“ I ’m going to be your baby man always if you 
want me to, mother,” he whispered, closing his arms 
around her neck in a sturdy hug. ‘‘ But I ’m father’s 
horse-wrangler, too. And a horse-wrangler has got to 
hold up his end. I — I did n’t want to kill anybody, 
honest. But Injuns are different. You kill rattlers, 
and they ain’t as mean as Injuns. That one I shot at 
was shooting at me before I even so much as knew 
there was one around. I just shot back. Father 
would, or anybody else.” 

I know — I know,” she conceded, the tender wom- 
anliness of her sighing over the need. In the next 
moment she was all mother, ready to fight for her 
young. Buddy, never, never ride anywhere without 
your rifle ! And a revolver, too — be sure that it is in 
perfect condition. And — have you a knife ? You ’re 
so little!** she wailed. “But father will need you, 
and he ’ll take care of you — and Colorou would not 
let 3"ou be hurt if he knew. But — Buddy, you must 


34 Cow-Country 

be careful, and always watching — never let them 
catch you off your guard. I shall be in Laramie be- 
fore you and father and the boys, I suppose, if the 
Indians really do break out. And you must promise 
me — ” 

'' I ’ll promise, mother. And don’t you go and trust 
old Colorou an inch. He was jumping higher than 
any of ’em, and shaking his tomahawk and yelling — 
he’d have scalped me right there if he’d seen me 
watching ’em. Mother, I ’m going to find father and 
tell him. And you may as well be packing up, and — 
don’t leave my guitar for them to smash, will you, 
mother ? ” 

His mother laughed then and pushed him toward the 
door. She had an idea of her own and she did not 
want to be hindered now in putting it into action. Up 
the creek, in the bank behind a clump of willows, was 
a small cave — or a large niche, one might call it — 
where many household treasures might be safely hid- 
den, if one went carefully, wading in the creek to hide 
the tracks. She followed Buddy out, and called to 
Ezra who was chopping wood with a grunt for every 
fall of the axe and many rest-periods in the shade of 
the cottonwood tree. 

At the stable. Buddy looked back and saw her talk- 
ing earnestly to Ezra, who stood nodding his head in 
complete approval. Buddy’s knowledge of women 
began and ended with his mother. Therefore, to him 
all women were wonderful creatures whom men wor- 
shipped ardently because they were created for the 
adoration of lesser souls. Buddy did not know what 
his mother was going to do, but he was sure that 
whatever she did would be right; so he hoisted his 


Buddy Gives Warning 35 

saddle on the handiest fresh horse, and loped ofif to 
drive in the remuda, feeling certain that his father 
would move swiftly to save his cattle that ranged back 
in the foothills, and that the saddle horses would be 
wanted at a moment’s notice. 

Also, he reasoned, the range horses (mares and 
colts and the unbroken geldings) would not be left to 
the mercy of the Indians. He did not quite know 
how his father would manage it, but he decided that 
he would corral the remuda first, and then drive in the 
other horses, that fed scattered in undisturbed posses- 
sion of a favorite grassy creek-bottom farther up the 
Platte. 

The saddle horses, accustomed to Buddy’s driving, 
were easily corralled. The other horses were fat and 
‘‘ sassy ” and resented his coming among them with 
the shrill whoop of authority. They gave him a hot 
hour’s riding before they finally bunched and went 
tearing down the river bottom toward the ranch. 
Even so. Buddy left two of the wildest careening up a 
narrow gulch. He had not attempted to ride after 
them; not because he was afraid of Indians, for he 
was not. The war-dance held every young buck and 
every old one in camp beyond the Pass. But the 
margin of safety might be narrow, and Buddy was 
taking no chances that day. 

When he was convinced that it was impossible for 
one boy to be in half a dozen places at once, and that 
the cowboys would be needed to corral the range 
bunch, Buddy whooped them all down the creek be- 
low the home ranch and let them go just as his father 
came riding up to the corral. 

“ They ’re war-dancing, father,” Buddy shouted ea- 


36 Cow-Country 

gerly, slipping off his horse and wiping away the trickles 
of perspiration with a handkerchief not much redder 
than his face. I drove all the horses down, so they 'd 
be handy. Them range horses are pretty wild. There 
was two I could n’t get. What ’ll I do now ? ” 

Bob Birnie looked at his youngest rider and 
smoothed his beard with one hand. “ You ’re an am- 
bitious lad, Buddy. It ’s the Utes you ’re meaning — 
or is it the horses ? ” 

Buddy lifted his head and stared at his father dis- 
approvingly. 

“ Colorou is going to break out. I know. They Ve 
got their war paint all on and they ’re dancing. I saw 
them myself. I was going after the gloves Colorou’s 
squaw was making for me, — but I did n’t get ’em. I 
laid in the brush and watched ’em dance.” He stopped 
and looked again doubtfully at his father. I thought 
you might want to get the cattle outa the way,” he 
added. thought I could save some time — ” 

“ You ’re sure about the paint ? ” 

Yes, I ’m sure. And Colorou was just a-going it 
with his war bonnet on and shaking his tomahawk and 
yelling — ” 

‘‘ Ye did well, lad. We ’ll be leaving for Big Creek 
to-night, so run away now and rest yourself.” 

Oh, and can I go ? ” Buddy’s voice was shrill 
with eagerness. 

“ I ’ll need you, lad, to look after the horses. It 
will give me one more hand with the cattle. Now go 
tell Step-and-a-Half to make ready for a week on the 
trail, and to have supper early so he can make his 
start with the rest.” 

Buddy walked stiffly away to the cook’s cabin where 


Buddy Gives Warning 37 

Step-and-a-Half sat leisurely gouging the worst blem- 
ishes out of soft, old potatoes with a chronic tendency 
to grow sprouts, before he peeled them for supper. 
His crippled leg was thrust out straight, his hat was 
perched precariously over one ear because of the slant- 
ing sun rays through the window, and a half-smoked 
cigarette waggled uncertainly in the corner of his 
mouth while he sang dolefully a most optimistic ditty 
of the West : 

** O give me a home where the buff-alo roam. 
Where the deer and the antelope play. 

Where never is heard a discouraging word 
And the sky is not cloudy all day.’" 

“ You ’re going to hear a discouraging word right 
now,” Buddy broke in ruthlessly upon the song. 
Whereupon, with a bit of importance in his voice and 
in his manner, he proceeded to spoil Step-and-a-Half’s 
disposition and to deepen, if that were possible, his 
loathing of Indians. Too often had he made dubious 
soup of his dishwater and the leavings from a roundup 
crew’s dinner, and watched blanketed bucks smack 
lips over the mess, to run from them now without 
feeling utterly disgusted with life. Step-and-a-Half ’s 
vituperations could be heard above the clatter of pots 
and pans as he made ready for the journey. 

That night’s ride up the pass through the narrow 
range of high-peaked hills to the Tomahawk’s farthest 
range on Big Creek was a tedious affair to Buddy. A 
man had been sent on a fast horse to warn the nearest 
neighbor, who in turn would warn the next, — until no 
settler would be left in ignorance of his danger. Ezra 
was already on the trail to Laramie, with mother and 


38 Cow-Country 

Dulcie and the cats and a slat box full of chickens, 
and a young sow with little pigs. 

Buddy, whose word no one had questioned, who 
might pardonably have considered himself a hero, was 
concerned chiefly with his mother’s flower garden 
which he had helped to plant and had watered more or 
less faithfully with creek water carried in buckets. He 
was afraid the Indians would step on the poppies and 
the phlox, and trample down the four o’clocks which 
were just beginning to branch out and look nice and 
bushy, and to blossom. The scent of the four o’clocks 
had been in his nostrils when he came out at dusk 
with his fur overcoat which mother had told him must 
not be left behind. Buddy himself merely liked flow- 
ers: but mother talked to them and kissed them just 
for love, and pitied them if Buddy forgot and let them 
go thirsty. He would have stayed to fight for moth- 
er’s flower garden, if it would have done any good. 

He was thinking sleepily that next year he would 
plant flowers in boxes that could be carried to the cave 
if the Indians broke out again, when Tex Farley poked 
him in the ribs and told him to wake up or he ’d fall 
oflf his horse. It was a weary climb to the top of the 
range that divided the valley of Big Creek from the 
North Platte, and a wearier climb down. Twice 
Buddy caught himself on the verge of toppling out of 
the saddle. For after all he was only a thirteen-year- 
old boy, growing like any other healthy young animal. 
He had been riding hard that day and half of the pre- 
ceding night when he had raced back from the Reser- 
vation to give warning of the impending outbreak. He 
needed sleep, and nature was determined that he should 
have it. 


CHAPTER FIVE 


Buddy Runs True to Type 

One never could predict with any certainty how 
long Indians would dance before they actually took 
the trail of murder and pillage. So much depended 
upon the Medicine, so much on signs and portents. It 
was even possible that they might, for some mysteri- 
ous reason unknown to their white neighbors, decide 
at the last moment to bide their time. The Tomahawk 
outfit worked from dawn until dark, and combed the 
foothills of the Snowies hurriedly, riding into the most 
frequented, grassy basins and wide canyons where 
the grass was lush and sweet and the mountain streams 
rushed noisily over rocks. As fast as the cattle were 
gathered they were pushed hastily toward the Platte. 
And though the men rode warily with rifles as handy 
as their ropes, they rode in peace. 

Buddy, proud of his job, counting himself as good 
a man as any of them, became a small riding demon 
after rebellious saddle horses, herding them away from 
thick undergrowth that might, for all he knew, hold 
Indians waiting a chance to scalp him, driving the 
remuda close to the cabins when night fell, because no 
man could be spared for night herding, sleeping lightly 
as a cat beside a mouse hole. He did not say much. 


40 Cow-Country 

perhaps because everyone was too busy to talk, hirr^- 
self included. 

Men rode in at night dog-weary, pulled their sad- 
dles and hurried stiffly to the cabin where Step-and-a- 
Half was showing his true worth as a cook who could 
keep the coffee-pot boiling and yet be ready to pack 
up and go at the first rifle-shot. They would bolt 
down enormous quantities of bannock and boiled beef, 
swallow their coffee hot enough to scald a hog, and 
stretch themselves out immediately to sleep. 

Buddy would be up and on his horse in the clear 
starlight before dawn, with a cup of coffee swallowed 
to hearten him for the chilly ride after the remuda. 
Even with the warmth of the coffee his teeth would 
chatter just at first, and he would ride with his thin 
shoulders lifted and a hand in a pocket. He could not 
sing or whistle to keep himself company. He must 
ride in silence until he had counted every dark, moving 
shape and knew that the herd was complete, then ease 
them quietly to camp. 

On the fourth morning he rode anxiously up the 
valley, fearing that the horses had been stolen in the 
night, yet hoping they had merely strayed up the creek 
to find fresh pastures. A light breeze that carried the 
keen edge of frost made his nose tingle. His horse 
trotted steadily forward, as keen on the trail as Buddy 
himself ; keener, for he would be sure to give warning 
of danger. So they rounded a bend in the creek and 
came upon the scattered fringe of the remuda cropping 
steadily at the meadow grass there. 

Buddy circled them, glancing now and then at the 
ridge beyond the valley. It seemed somehow un- 
natural — lower, with the stars showing along its 


Buddy Runs True to Type 41 

wooded crest in a row, as if there were no peaks. 
Then quite suddenly he knew that the ridge was the 
same, and that the stars he saw were little, breakfast 
camp-fires. His heart gave a jump when he realized 
how many little fires there were, and knew that the 
dance was over. The Indians had left the reservation 
and had crossed the ridge yesterday, and had camped 
there to wait for the dawn. 

While he gathered his horses together he guessed 
how old Colorou had planned to catch the Tomahawk 
riders when they left camp and scattered, two by two, 
on “ circle.” He had held his band well out of sight 
and sound of the Big Creek cabin, and if the horses 
had not strayed up the creek in the night he would 
have caught the white men off their guard. 

Buddy looked often over his shoulder while he drove 
the horses down the creek. It seemed stranger than 
luck, that he had been compelled to ride so far on this 
particular morning; as if mother’s steadfast faith in 
prayer and the guardianship of angels was justified 
by actual facts. Still, Buddy was too hard-headed to 
assume easily that angels had driven the horses up the 
creek so that he would have to ride up there and dis- 
cover the Indian fires. If angels could do that, why 
had n’t they stopped Colorou from going on the war- 
path ? It would have been simpler, in Buddy’s opinion. 

He did not mention the angel problem to his father, 
however. Bob Bimie was eating breakfast with his 
men when Buddy rode up to the cabin and told the 
news. The boys did not say anything much, but they 
may have taken bigger bites by way of filling their 
stomachs in less time than usual. 

I ’ll go see for myself,” said Bob Birnie. “ You 


42 Cow-Country 

boys saddle up and be ready to start. If it ’s Indians, 
we ’ll head for Laramie and drive everything before us 
as we go. But the lad may be wrong.” He took the 
reins from Buddy, mounted, and rode away, his booted 
feet hanging far below Buddy’s short stirrups. 

Speedily he was back, and the scowl on his face told 
plainly enough that Buddy had not been mistaken. 

‘‘ They ’re coming off the ridge already,” he an- 
nounced grimly. “ I heard their horses among the 
rocks up there. They think to come down on us at 
sunrise. There ’ll be too many for us to hold olf, I ’m 
thinking. Get ye a fresh horse. Buddy, and drive the 
horses down the creek fast as ye can.” 

Buddy uncoiled his rope and ran with his mouth full 
to do as he was told. He did not think he was scared, 
exactly, but he made three throws to get the horse he 
wanted, blaming the poor light for his ill luck; and 
then found himself in possession of a tall, uneasy 
brown that Dick Grimes had broken and sometimes 
rode. Buddy would have turned him loose and caught 
another, but the horses had sensed the suppressed ex- 
citement of the men and were circling and snorting in 
the half light of dawn; so Buddy led out the brown, 
pulled the saddle from the sweaty horse that had twice 
made the trip up the creek, and heaved it hastily on 
the brown’s back. Dick Grimes called to him, to know 
if he wanted any help, and Buddy yelled, “ No ! ” 

“ Here they come — damn ’em — turn the bunch 
loose and ride ! ” called Bob Birnie as a shrill, yelling 
war-whoop, like the yapping of many coyotes, sounded 
from the cottonwoods that bordered the creek. Yuh 
all right. Buddy ? ” 

‘‘Yeah — I’m a-comin’,” shrilled Buddy, hastily 


Buddy Runs True to Type 43 

looping the latigo. Just then the sharp staccato of 
rifle-shots mingled with the whooping of the Indians. 
Buddy was reaching for the saddle horn when the 
brown horse ducked and jerked loose. Before Buddy 
realized what was happening the brown horse, the 
herd and all the riders were pounding away down the 
valley, the men firing back at the cottonwoods. 

In the dust and clamor of their departure Buddy 
stood perfectly still for a minute, trying to grasp the 
full significance of his calamity. Step-and-a-Half had 
packed hastily and departed ahead of them all. His 
father and the cowboys were watching the cottonwood 
grove many rods to Buddy^s right and well in the back- 
ground, and they would not glance his way. Even if 
they did they would not see him, and if they saw him 
it would be madness to ride back — though there was 
not a man among them who would not have wheeled 
in his tracks and returned for Buddy in the very face 
of Colorou and his band. 

From the cottonwoods came the pound of gallop- 
ing hoofs. “Angels nothing!” cried Buddy in deep 
disgust and scuttled for the cabin. 

The cabin, he knew as he ran, was just then the 
worst place in the world for a boy who wanted very 
much to go on living. Through its gaping doorway 
he saw a few odds and ends of food lying on the table, 
but he dared not stop long enough to get them. The 
Indians were thundering down to the corral, and as he 
rounded the cabin’s corner he glanced back and saw 
the foremost riders whipping their horses on the trail 
of the fleeing white men. But some, he knew, would 
stop. Even the prospect of fresh scalps could not hold 
the greedy ones from prowling around a white man’s 


44 Cow-Country 

dwelling place. There might be tobacco or whiskey 
left behind, or something with color or a shine to it* 
Buddy knew well the ways of Indians. 

He made for the creek, thinking at first to hide 
somewhere in the brush along the bank. Then, fear- 
ing the brightening light of day and the wide space he 
must cross to reach the first fringe of brush, he stopped 
at a dugout cellar that had been built into the creek 
bank above high-water mark. There was a pole-and- 
dirt roof, and because the dirt sifted down between the 
poles whenever the wind blew — which was always — 
the place had been crudely ceiled inside with split poles 
overlapping one another. The ceiling was more or less 
fiat; the roof had a slight slope. In the middle of 
the tiny attic thus formed Buddy managed to 
worm his body through a hole in the gable next to the 
creek. 

He wriggled back to the end next the cabin and lay 
there very fiat and very quiet, peeping out through a 
half -inch crack, too wise in the ways of silence to 
hold his breath until he must heave a sigh to relieve 
his lungs. It was hard to breathe naturally and easily 
after that swift dash, but somehow he did it. An 
Indian had swerved and ridden behind the cabin, and 
w^as leaning and peering in all directions to see if any- 
<one had remained. Perhaps he suspected an ambush ; 
Buddy was absolutely certain that the fellow was look- 
ing for him, personally, and that he had seen Buddy 
run toward the creek. 

It was not a pleasant thought, and the fact that he 
knew that buck Indian by name, and had once traded 
him a jackknife for a beautifully tanned wolf skin for 
his mother, did not make it pleasanter. Hides-the- 


Buddy Runs True to Type 45 

face would not let past friendliness stand in the way 
of a killing. 

Presently Hides-the-face dismounted and tied his 
horse to a corner log of the cabin, and went inside 
with the others to see what he could find that could be 
eaten or carried off. Buddy saw fresh smoke issue 
from the stone chimney, and guessed that Step-and-a- 
Half had left something that could be cooked. It be- 
came evident, in the course of an hour or so, that his 
presence was absolutely unsuspected, and Buddy began 
to watch them more composedly, silently promising 
especial forms of punishment to this one and that one 
whom he knew. Most of them had been to the ranch 
many times, and he could have called to a dozen of 
them by name. They had sat in his father’s cabin or 
stood immobile just within the door, and had listened 
while his mother played and sang for them. She had 
fed them cakes — Buddy remembered the good things 
which mother had given these despicable ones who 
were looting and gobbling and destroying like a drove 
of hogs turned loose in a garden, and the thought of 
her wasted kindness turned him sick with rage. 
Mother had believed in their friendliness. Buddy 
wished that mother could see them setting fire to the 
low, log stable and the corral, and swarming in and 
out of the cabin. 

Painted for war they were, with red stripes across 
their foreheads, ribs outlined in red which, when they 
loosened their blankets as the sun warmed them, gave 
them a fantastic likeness to the skeletons Buddy wished 
they were; red stripes on their arms, the number 
showing their rank in the tribe; open-seated, buck- 
skin breeches to their knees where they met the tightly 


46 Cow-Country 

wrapped leggings ; moccasins laced snugly at the ankle 
— they were picturesque enough to any eyes but 
Buddy’s. He saw the ghoulish greed in their eyes, 
heard it in their voices when they shouted to one 
another; and he hated them even more than he feared 
them. 

Much that they said he understood. They were 
cursing the Tomahawk outfit, chiefly because the men 
had not waited there to be surprised and killed. They 
cursed his father in particular, and were half sorry 
that they had not ridden on in pursuit with the others. 
They hoped no white man would ride alive to Laramie. 
It made cheerful listening to Buddy, flat on his stomach 
in the roof of the dugout ! 

After a while, when the cabin had been gutted of 
everything it contained save the crude table and 
benches, a few Indians brought burning brands from 
the stable and set it afire. They were very busy in- 
side and out, making sure that the flames took hold 
properly. Then, when the dry logs began to blaze and 
flames licked the edges of the roof, they stood back 
and watched it. 

Buddy saw Hides-the-face glance speculatively 
toward the dugout, and slipped his hand back where 
he could reach his six-shooter. He felt pretty certain 
that they meant to demolish the dugout next, and he 
knew exactly what he meant to do. He had heard men at 
the posts talk of “ selling their lives dearly ”, and that 
is what he intended to do. 

He was not going to be in too much of a hurry ; he 
would wait until they actually began on the dugout — 
and when they were on tlhe bank within a few feet of 
him, and he saw that there was no getting away from 


Buddy Runs True to Type 47 

death, he meant to shoot five Indians, and himself last 
of all. 

Tentatively he felt of his temple where he meant to 
place the muzzle of the gun when there was just one 
bullet left. It was so nice and smooth — he won- 
dered if Gk)d would really help him out, if he said Our 
Father with a pure heart and with faith, as his mother 
said one must pray. He was slightly doubtful of both 
conditions, when he came to think of it seriously. 
This spring he had felt grown-up enough to swear a 
little at the horses, sometimes — and he was not sure 
that shooting the Indian that time would not be 
counted a crime by God, who loved all His creatures. 
Mother always stuck to it that Injuns were God^s 
creatures — which brought Buddy squarely against the 
incredible assumption that God must love them. He 
did not in the least mean to be irreverent, but when he 
watched those painted bucks his opinion of God 
changed slightly. He decided that he himself was 
neither pure nor full of faith, and that he would not 
pray just yet. He would let God go ahead and do as 
He pleased about it; except that Buddy would never 
let those Indians get him alive, no matter what God 
expected. 

Hides-the-face walked over toward the dugout. 
Buddy crooked his left arm and laid the gun barrel 
across it to get a “dead rest” and leave nothing to 
chance. Hides-the-face stared at the dugout, moved 
to one side — and the muzzle of the gun followed, 
keeping its aim directly at the left edge of his breast- 
bone as outlined with the red paint. Hides-the-face 
craned, stepped into the path down the bank and 
passed out of range. Buddy gritted his teeth malevo- 


48 Cow-Country 

lently and waited, his ears strained to catch and in- 
terpret the meaning of every soft sound made by 
Hides-the-face’s moccasins. 

Hides-the-face cautiously pushed open the door of 
the cellar and looked in, standing for interminable 
minutes, as is the leisurely way of Indians when there 
is no great need of haste. Buddy cautiously lowered 
his face and peered down like a mouse from the thatch, 
but he could not handily bring his gun to bear upon 
Hides-the-face, who presently turned back and went 
up the path, his shoulder-muscles moving snakishly 
under his brown skin as he climbed the bank. 

Hides-the-face returned to the others and announced 
that there was a place where they could camp. Buddy 
could not hear all that he said, and Hides-the-face had 
his back turned so that not all of his signs were in- 
telligible ; but he gathered that these particular Indians 
had chosen or had been ordered to wait here for three 
suns, and that the cellar appealed to Hides-the-face as 
a shelter in case it stormed 

Buddy did not know whether to rejoice at the news 
-or to mourn. They would not destroy the dugout, so 
he need not shoot himself, which was of course a 
relief. Still, three suns meant three days and nights, 
and the prospect of lying there on his stomach, afraid 
to move for that length of time, almost amounted to 
the same thing in the end. He did not believe that he 
could hold out that long, though of course he would 
try pretty hard. 

All that day Buddy lay watching through the crack, 
determined to take any chance that came his way. 
None came. The Indians loitered in 'the shade, and 
some slept. But always two or three remained awake ; 


Buddy Runs True to Type 49 

and although they sat apparently ready to doze off at 
any minute, Buddy knew them too well to hope for 
such good luck. Two Indians rode in toward evening 
dragging a calf that had been overlooked in the 
roundup ; and having improvidently burned the cabin, 
the meat was cooked over the embers which still 
smouldered in places where knots in the logs made 
slow fuel. 

Buddy watched them hungrily, wondering how long 
it took to starve. 

When it was growing dark he tried to keep in mind 
the exact positions of the Indians, and to discover 
whether a guard would be placed over the camp, or 
whether they felt safe enough to sleep without a sen- 
tinel. Hides-the-face he had long ago decided was in 
charge of the party, and Hides-the-face was seem- 
ingly concerned only with gorging himself on the half- 
roasted meat. Buddy hoped he would choke himself, 
but Hides-the-face was very good at gulping half- 
chewed hunks and finished without disaster. 

Then he grunted something to someone in the dark, 
and there was movement in the group. Buddy ground 
his growing ‘‘ second teeth together, clenched his 
fist and said Damn it ! three times in a silent cres- 
cendo of rage because he could neither see nor hear 
what took place; and immediately he repented his 
profanity, remembering that God could hear him. In 
Buddy’s opinion, you never could be sure about God; 
He bestowed mysterious mercies and strange punish- 
ments, and His ways were past finding out. Buddy 
tipped his palms together and repeated all the prayers 
his mother had taught him and then, with a flash of 
memory, finished with Oh, God, please just as 


Cow-Country 

mother had done long ago on the dry drive. After 
that he meditated uncomfortably for a few minutes 
and added in a faint whisper, “ Oh, shucks ! You don’t 
want to pay any attention to a fellow cussing a little 
when he’s mad. I could easy make that up if you 
helped me out some way.” 

Buddy believed afterwards that God yielded to per- 
suasion and decided to give him a chance. For not 
more than five minutes passed when a far-off murmur 
grew to an indefinable roar, and the wind whooped 
down off the Snowies so fiercely that even the dugout 
quivered a little and rattled dirt down on Buddy 
through the poles just over his head. 

At first this seemed an unlucky circumstance, for 
the Indians came down into the dugout for shelter, 
and now Buddy was afraid to breathe in the quiet in- 
tervals between the gusts. Just below him he could 
hear the occasional mutters of laconic sentences and 
grunted answers as the bucks settled themselves for 
the night, and he had a short, panicky spell of fearing 
that the poles would give way beneath him and drop 
him in upon them. 

After a while — it seemed hours to Buddy — the 
wind settled down to a steady gale. The Indians, so 
far as he could determine, were all asleep in the cellar. 
And Buddy, setting his teeth hard together, began to 
slide slowly backward toward the opening through 
which he had crawled into the roof. When he had 
crawled in he had not noticed the springiness of the 
poles, but now his imagination tormented him with the 
sensation of sagging and swaying. When his feet 
pushed through the opening he had to grit his teeth to 
hold himself steady. It seemed as if someone were 


Buddy Runs True to Type 51 

reaching up in the dark to catch him by the legs and 
pull him out. Nothing happened, however, and after 
a little he inched backward until he hung with his 
elbows hooked desperately inside the opening, his head 
and shoulders within and protesting with every nerve 
against leaving the shelter. 

Buddy said afterwards that he guessed he ’d have 
hung there until daylight, only he was afraid it was 
about time to change guard, and somebody might catch 
him. But he said he was scared to let go and drop, 
because it must have been pretty crowded in the cellar, 
and he knew the door was open, and some buck might 
be roosting outside handy to be stepped on. But he 
knew he had to do something, because if he ever went 
to sleep up in that place he’d snore, maybe; and any- 
way, he said, he’d rather run himself to death than 
starve to death. So he dropped. 

It was two days after that when Buddy shuffled into 
a mining camp on the ridge just north of Douglas 
Pass. He was still on his feet, but they dragged like 
an old man’s. He had walked twenty-five miles in 
two nights, going carefully, in fear of Indians. The 
first five miles he had waded along the shore of the 
creek, he said, in case they might pick up his tracks 
at the dugout and try to follow him. He had hidden 
himself like a rabbit in the brush through the day, and 
he had not dared shoot any meat, wherefore he had 
not eaten anything. 

‘‘ I ain’t as hungry as I was at first,” he grinned 
tremulously. “ But I guess I better — eat. I don’t 
want — to lose the — habit — ” Then he went slack, 
and a man swearing to hide his pity picked him up in 
his arms and carried him into the tent. 


CHAPTER SIX 


The Young Eagle Must Fly 

** You ^RE of age,” said Bob Birnie, sucking hard at 
his pipe. “ You ’ve had your schooling as your mother 
wished that you should have it. You ’ve got the music 
in your head and your fingers and your toes, and that ’s 
as your mother wished that you should have. 

** Your mother would have you be all for music, and 
make tunes out of your own head. She tells me that 
you have made tunes and written them down on paper, 
and that there are those who would buy them and print 
copies to sell, with your name at the top of the page. 
I ’ll not say what I think of that — your mother is an 
angel among women, and she has taught you the 
things she loves hersel’. 

‘‘ But my business is with the cattle, and I ’ve had 
you out with me since you could climb on the back of 
a horse. I ’ve watched you, with the rope and the 
irons and in the saddle and all. You ’ve been in tight 
places that would try the mettle of a man grown — I 
mind the time ye escaped Colorou’s band, and we 
thought ye dead ’til ye came to us in Laramie. You ’ve 
showed that you ’re able to hold your own on the range, 
lad. Your mother ’s all for the music — but I leave it 
to you. 

“ Ten thousand dollars I ’ll give ye, if that ’s your 


The Young Eagle Must Fly 53 

wish, and you can go to Europe as she wishes and 
study and make tunes for others to play. Or if ye 
prefer it, I ’ll brand you a herd of she stock and let ye 
go your ways. No son of mine can take orders from 
his father after he ’s a man grown, and I ’m not to the 
age where I can sit with the pipe from morning to 
night and let another run my outfit. , I ’ve talked it 
over with your mother, and she ’ll bide by your de- 
cision, as I shall do. 

“ So I put it in a nutshell, Robert. You ’re 
twenty-one to-day ; a man grown, and husky as they ’re 
made. ’Tis time you faced the world and lived your 
life. You’ve been a good lad — as lads go.” He 
stopped there to rub his jaw thoughtfully, perhaps 
remembering certain incidents in Buddy’s full-flavored 
past. Buddy — grown to plain Bud among his fel- 
lows — turned red without losing the line of hardness 
that had come to his lips. 

“ You ’re of legal age to be called a man, and the 
future ’s before ye. I ’ll give ye five hundred cows 
with their calves beside them — you can choose them 
yourself, for you ’ve a sharp eye for stock — and you 
can go where ye will. Or I ’ll give ye ten thousand 
dollars and ye can go to Europe and make tunes if 
you ’re a mind to. And whatever ye choose it ’ll be 
make or break with ye. Ye can sleep on the decision, 
for I ’ve no wish that ye should < choose hastily and be 
sorry after.” 

Buddy — grown to Bud — lifted a booted foot and 
laid it across his other knee and with his forefinger 
absently whirled the long-pointed rowel on his spur. 
The hardness at his lips somehow spread to his eyes, 
that were bent on the whirring rowel. It was the 


54 Cow-Country 

look that had come into the face of the baby down on 
the Staked Plains when Ezra called and called after 
he had been answered twice; the look that had held 
firm the lips of the boy who had lain very flat on his 
stomach in the roof of the dugout and had watched 
the Utes burning the cabin. 

There 's no need to sleep on it,” he said after a 
minute. “ You \e raised me, and spent some money on 
me — but I Ve saved you a man’s wages ever since I 
was ten. If you think I ’ve evened things up, all right. 
If you don’t, make out your bill and I ’ll pay it when 
I can. There ’s no reason why you should give me 
anything I have n’t earned, just because you ’re my 
father. You earned all you ’ve got, and I guess I can 
do the same. As you say, I ’m a man. I ’ll go at the 
future man fashion. And,” he added with a slight 
flare of the nostrils, ‘‘ I ’ll start in the morning.” 

And is it to make tunes for other folks to play? ” 
Bob Birnie asked after a silence, covertly eyeing him. 

No, sir. There ’s more money in cattle. I ’ll 
make my stake in the cow-country, same as you ’ve 
done.” He looked up and grinned a little. “To the 
devil with your money and your she-stock ! I ’ll get 
out all right — but I ’ll make my own way.” 

“ You ’re a stubborn fool, Robert. The Scotch 
now and then shows itself like that in a man. I got my 
start from my father and I ’m not ashamed of it. A 
thousand pounds — and I brought it to America and 
to Texa^, and got cattle.” 

Bud laughed and got up, hiding how the talk had 
struck deep into the soul of him. “ Then I ’ll go you 
one better, dad. I ’ll get my own start.” 

“ You ’ll be back home in six months, lad, saying 


The Young Eagle Must Fly 55 

you Ve changed your mind,” Bob Bimie predicted 
sharply, stung by the tone of young Bud. That,” 
he added grimly, “ or for a full belly and a clean bed 
to crawl into.” 

Bud stood licking the cigarette he had rolled to 
hide an unaccountable trembling of his fingers. 
“ When I come back I ’ll be in a position to buy you 
out! I’ll borrow Skate and Maverick, if you don’t 
mind, till I get located somewhere.” He paused while 
he lighted the cigarette. It ’s the custom,” he re- 
minded his father unnecessarily, “ to furnish a man a 
horse to ride and one to pack his bed, when he ’s 
fired.” 

Ye Ve horses of yer own,” Bob Birnie retorted, 
‘‘ and you ’ve no need to borrow.” 

Bud stood looking down at his father, plainly un- 
decided. I don’t know whether they ’re mine or not,” 
he said after a minute. ‘‘ I don’t know what it cost 
you to raise me. Figure it up, if you have n’t already, 
and count the time I ’ve worked for you. Since you ’ve 
put me on a business basis, like raising a calf to ship- 
ping age, let ’s be businesslike about it. You are good at 
figuring your profits — I’ll leave it to you. And if 
you find I ’ve anything coming to me besides my 
riding outfit and the clothes I ’ve got, all right ; I ’ll 
take horses for the balance.” 

He walked off with the swing to his shoulders that 
had always betrayed him when he was angry, and 
Bob Birnie gathered his beard into a handful and held 
it while he stared after him. It had been no part of 
his plan to set his son adrift on the range without a 
dollar, but since Bud’s temper was up, it might be a 
good thing to let him go. 


56 C ow-Country 

So Bob Bimie went away to confer with his wife, 
and Bud was left alone to nurse his hurt while he 
packed his few belongings. It did hurt him to be told 
in that calm, cold-blooded manner that, now he was of 
legal age, he would not be expected to stay on at the 
Tomahawk. Until his father had spoken to him about 
it. Bud had not thought much about what he would do 
when his school days were over. He had taken life as 
it was presented to him week by week, month by month. 
He had fulfilled his mother’s hopes and had learned to 
make music. He had lived up to his father’s unspoken 
standards of a cowman. He had made a '' hand ” 
ever since his legs were long enough to reach the 
stirrups of a saddle. There was not a better rider, 
not a better roper on the range than Bud Bimie. 
Morally he was cleaner than most young fellows of his 
age. He hated trickery, he reverenced all good women; 
the bad ones he pitied because he believed that they 
sorrowed secretly because they were not good, because 
they had missed somehow their real purpose in life, 
which was to be wife and mother. He had, in fact, 
grown up clean and true to type. He was Buddy, 
grown to be Bud. 

And Buddy, now that he was a man, had been told 
that he was not expected to stay at home and help his 
father, and be a comfort to his mother. He was like 
a young eagle which, having grown wing-feathers that 
will bear the strain of high air currents, has been 
pecked out of the nest. No doubt the young eagle 
resents his unexpected banishment, although in time 
he would have felt within himself the urge to go. 
Leave Bud alone, and soon or late he would have gone 
— perhaps with compunctions against leaving home. 


The Young Eagle Must Fly 57 

and the feeling that he was somehow a disappointment 
to his parents. He would have explained to his father, 
apologized to his mother. As it was, he resented the 
alacrity with which his father was pushing him out. 

So he packed his clothes that night, and pushed his 
guitar into its case and buckled the strap with a vicious 
yank, and went off to the bunkhouse to eat supper with 
the boys instead of sitting down to the table where his 
mother had placed certain dishes which Buddy loved 
best — wanting to show in true woman fashion her 
love and sympathy for him. 

Later — it was after Bud had gone to bed — mother 
came and had a long talk with him. She was very 
sweet and sensible, and Bud was very tender with her. 
But she could not budge him from his determination 
to go and make his way without a Birnie dollar to 
ease the beginning. Other men had started with noth- 
ing and had made a stake, and there was no reason 
why he could not do so. 

“ Dad put it straight enough, and it ’s no good argu- 
ing. I M starve before I ’d take anything from him. 
I ’m entitled to my clothes, and maybe a horse or two 
for the work I Ve done for him while I was growing 
up. I Ve figured out pretty close what it cost to put 
me through the University, and what I was worth to 
him during the summers. Father's Scotch — but he 
is n’t a darned bit more Scotch than I am, mother. 
Putting it all in dollars and cents, I think I Ve earned 
more than I cost him. In the winters, I know I earned 
my board doing chores and riding line. Many a little 
bunch of stock I Ve saved for him by getting out in 
the foothills and driving them down below heavy 
snowline before a storm. You remember the bunch of 


5 8 Cow-Country 

horses I found by watching the magpies — the time we 
tied hay in canvas and took it up to them ’til they got 
strength enough to follow the trail I trampled in the 
snow? I earned my board and more, every winter 
since I was ten. So I don’t believe I owe dad a cent, 
when it ’s all figured out. 

“ But you ’ve done for me what money can’t repay, 
mother. I ’ll always be in debt to you — and I ’ll 
square it by being the kind of a man you ’ve tried to 
teach me to be. I will, mother. Dad and the dollars 
are a different matter. The debt I owe you will never 
be paid, but I ’m going to make you glad I know there ’s 
a debt. I believe there ’s a God, because I know there 
must have been one to make you! And no matter 
how far away I may drift in miles, your Buddy is 
going to be here with you always, mother, learning 
from you all there is of goodness and sweetness.” He 
held her two hands against his face, and she felt his 
cheeks wet beneath her palms. Then he took them 
away and kissed them many times, like a lover. 

“ If I ever have a wife, she ’s going to have her 
work cut out for her,” he laughed unsteadily. “ She ’ll 
have to live up to you, mother, if she wants me to 
love her.” 

“If you have a wife she ’ll be well-spoiled, young 
man! Perhaps it is wise that you should go — but 
don’t you forget your music, Buddy — and be a good 
boy, and remember, mother ’s going to follow you with 
her love and her faith in you, and her prayers.” 

It may have been that Buddy’s baby memory of 
going north whenever the trail herd started remained 
to send Bud instinctively northward when he left the 
Tomahawk next morning. It had been a case of stub- 


The Young Eagle Must Fly 59 

bom father and stubborn son dickering politely over 
the net earnings of the son from the time when he was 
old enough to leave his mother’s lap and climb into a 
saddle to ride with his father. Three horses and his 
personal belongings had been agreed upon between 
them as the balance in Bud’s favor; and at that, Bob 
Birnie dryly remarked, he had been a better investment 
as a son than most young fellows, who cost more than 
they were worth to raise. 

Bud did not answer the implied praise, but roped 
the Tomahawk’s best three horses out of the remuda 
corralled for him by his father’s riders. You should 
have seen the sidelong glances among the boys when 
they learned that Bud, just home from the University^ 
was going somewhere with all his earthly possessions 
and a look in his face that meant trouble! 

Two big valises and his blankets he packed on Sun- 
fish, a deceptively raw-boned young buckskin with 
much white showing in his eyes — an ornery looking 
brute if ever there was one. Bud’s guitar and a man- 
dolin in their cases he tied securely on top of the pack. 
Smoky, the second horse, a deep-chested “ mouse ” with 
a face almost human in its expression, he saddled, and 
put a lead rope on the third, a bay four-year-old called 
Stopper, which was the Tomahawk’s best rope-horse 
and one that would be missed when fast work was 
wanted in branding. 

He sure as hell picked himself three top hawses,’' 
a tall puncher murmured to another. “ Wonder where 
he’s headed for? Not repping — this late in the 
season.” 

Bud overheard them, and gave no sign. Had they 
asked him directly he could not have told them, for 


6o 


Cow-Country 

he did not know, except that somehow he felt that he 
was going to head north. Why north, he could not 
have explained, since cow-country lay all around him; 
nor how far north, — for cow-country extended to 
the upper boundary of the States, and beyond into 
Canada. 

He left his horses standing by the corral while he 
went to the house to tell his mother good-by, and to 
send a farewell message to Dulcie, who had been mar- 
ried a year and lived in Laramie. He did not expect to 
strike Laramie, he told his mother when she asked him. 

‘‘ I ^m going till I stop,” he explained, with a squeeze 
of her shoulders to reassure her. I guess it ’s the 
way you felt, mother, when you left Texas behind. 
You could n’t tell where you folks would wind up. 
Neither can 1. My trail herd is kinda small, right now ; 
a lot smaller than it will be later on. But such as it is, 
it ’s going to hit the right range before it stops for 
^ood. And I ’ll write.” 

He took a doughnut in his hand and a package of 
lunch to slip in his pocket, kissed her with much cheer- 
fulness in his manner and hurried out, his big-rowelled 
spurs burring on the porch just twice before he stepped 
off on the gravel. Telling mother good-by had been 
the one ordeal he dreaded, and he was glad to have it 
over with. 

Old Step-and-a-Half hailed him as he went past the 
chuck-house, and came limping out, wiping his hands 
on his apron before he shook hands and wished him 
good luck. Ezra, pottering around the tool shed, 
ambled up with the eyes of a dog that has been sent 
hack home by his master. “ Ah shoah do wish yo’ all 
good fawtune an’ health, Marse Buddy,” Ezra qua- 


The Young Eagle Must Fly 6i 

vered. ‘‘ Ah shoah do. It ain’ goin^ seem lak de same 
place — and Ah shoah do hopes yo’ all writes frequent 
lettahs to yo’ mothah, boy ! ” 

Bud promised that he would, and managed to break 
away from Ezra without betraying himself. How, he 
wondered, did everyone seem to know that he was go- 
ing for good, this time ? He had believed that no one 
knew of it save himself, his father and his mother; yet 
everyone else behaved as if they never expected to 
see him again. It was disconcerting, and Bud hastily 
untied the two led horses and mounted Smoky, the 
mouse-colored horse he himself had broken two years 
before. 

His father came slowly up to him, straight-backed 
and with the gait of the man who has ridden astride a 
horse more than he has walked on his own feet. He 
put up his hand, gloved for riding, and Bud changed 
the lead-ropes from his right hand to his left, and 
shook hands rather formally. 

“Ye Ve good weather for travelling,’’ said Bob 
Birnie tentatively. “ I have not said it before, lad, 
but when ye own yourself a fool to take this way of 
making your fortune, ten thousand dollars will still 
be ready to start ye right. I ’ve no wish to shirk a 
duty to my family.” 

Bud pressed his lips together while he listened. “If 
you keep your ten thousand till it ’s called for, you ’ll 
be drawing interest a long time on it,” he said. “ It ’s 
going to be hot to-day. I ’ll be getting along.” 

He lifted the reins, glanced back to see that the two 
horses were showing the proper disposition to follow, 
and rode off down the deep-rutted road that followed 
up the creek to the pass where he had watched the 


62 Cow-Country 

) _ j 

Utes dancing the war dance one night that he remem- ] 
bered well. If he winced a little at the familiar land- 
marks he passed, he still held fast to the determination ^ 
to go, and to find fortune somewhere along the trail | 
of his own making; and to ask help from no man, least \ 
of all his father who had told him to go. 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


Bud Flips a Coin with Fate 

“ I DON^T think it matters so much where we light, 
it ’s what we do when we get there,” said Bud to 
Smoky, his horse, one day as they stopped where two 
roads forked at the base of a great, outstanding peak 
that was but the point of a mountain range. “ This 
trail straddles the butte and takes on up two different 
valleys. It ’s all cow-country — so what do yuh say. 
Smoke ? Which trail looks the best to you ? ” 

Smoky flopped one ear forward and the other one 
back, and switched at a pestering fly. Behind him 
Sunfish and Stopper waited with the patience they had 
learned in three weeks of continuous travel over coun- 
try that was rough in spots, barren in places, with 
wind and sun and occasional, sudden thunderstorms 
to punctuate the daily grind of travel. 

Bud drew a half dollar from his pocket and re- 
garded it meditatively. “ They ’re going fast — we ’ll 
just naturally have to stop pretty soon, or we don’t 
eat,” he observed. Smoke, you ’re a quitter. What 
you want to do is go back — but you won’t get the 
chance. Heads, we take the right hand trail. I like it 
better, anyway — it angles more to the north.” 

Heads it was, and Bud leaned from the saddle and 
recovered the coin. Smoky turning his head to regard 


64 Cow-Country 

his rider tolerantly. “ Right hand goes — and we 
camp at the first good water and grass. I can grain 
the three of you once more before we hit a town, and 
that goes for me, too. G'wan, Smoke, and don’t act 
so mournful.” 

Smoky went on, following the trail that wound in 
and out around the butte, hugging close its sheer sides 
to avoid a fifty-foot drop into the creek below. It 
was new country — Bud had never so much as seen a 
map of it to give him a clue to what was coming. The 
last turn of the deep-rutted, sandy road where it left 
the river’s bank and led straight between two humpy 
shoulders of rock to the foot of a platter-shaped val- 
ley brought him to a halt again in sheer astonishment. 

From behind a low hill still farther to the right, 
where the road forked again, a bluish haze of smoke 
indicated that there was a town of some sort, perhaps. 
Farther up the valley a brownish cloud hung low — a 
roundup. Bud knew at a glance. He hesitated. The 
town, if it were a town, could wait; the roundup 
might not. And a job he must have soon, or go hun- 
gry. He turned and rode toward the dust-cloud, 
came shortly to a small stream and a green grass-plot, 
and stopped there long enough to throw the pack off 
Sunfish, unsaddle Smoky and stake them both out to 
graze. Stopper he saddled, then knelt and washed 
his face, beat the travel dust off his hat, untied his 
rope and coiled it carefully, untied his handkerchief 
and shook it as clean as he could and knotted it closely 
again. One might have thought he was preparing to 
meet a girl; but the habit of neatness dated back to 
his pink-apron days and beyond, the dirt and dust 
meant discomfort. 


Bud Flips a Coin with Fate 65 

When he mounted Stopper and loped away toward 
the dust-cloud, he rode hopefully, sure of himself, 
carrying his range credentials in his eyes, in his perfect 
saddle-poise, in the tan on his face to his eyebrows ^ 
and the womanish softness of his gloved hands, which 
had all the sensitive flexibility of a musician. 

His main hope was that the outfit was working 
short-handed; and when he rode near enough to dis- 
tinguish the herd and the riders, he grinned his satis- 
faction. 

Good cow-country, by the look of that bunch of 
cattle,'’ he observed to himself. And eight men is a 
small crew to work a herd that size. I guess I '11 tie 
onto this outfit. Stopper, you’ll maybe get a chance 
to turn a cow this afternoon.” 

Just how soon the chance would come. Bud had not 
realized. He had no more than come within shouting 
distance of the herd when a big, rollicky steer broke 
from the milling cattle and headed straight out past 
him, running like a deer. Stopper, famed and named 
for his prowess with just such cattle, wheeled in his 
tracks and lengthened his stride to a run. 

‘‘ Tie ’im down ! ” someone yelled behind Bud. 
And “ Catch ’im and tie ’im down ! ” shouted an- 
other. 

For answer Bud waved his hand, and reached in 
his pocket for his knife. Stopper was artfully circling 
the steer, forcing it back toward the herd, and in an- 
other hundred yards or so Bud must throw his loop. 
He sliced off a saddle-string and took it between his 
teeth, jerked his rope loose, flipped open the loop as 
Stopper raced up alongside, dropped the noose neatly, 
and took his turns while Stopper planted his forefeet 


66 


Cow-Country 

and braced himself for the shock. Bud’s right leg 
was over the cantle, all his weight on the left stirrup 
when the jerk came and the steer fell with a thump. 
By good luck — so Bud afterwards asserted — he Was 
off and had the steer tied before it had recovered its 
breath to scramble up. He remounted, flipped off the 
loop and recoiled his rope while he went jogging up to 
meet a rider coming out to him. 

If he expected thanks for what he had done, he 
must have received a shock. Other riders had left 
their posts and were edging up to hear what happened, 
and Bud reined up in astonishment before the most 
amazing string of unseemly epithets he had ever heard. 
It began with : “ What ’d you throw that critter for ? ” 
— which of course is putting it mildly — and ended in 
a choked phrase which one man may not use to an- 
other’s face and expect anything but trouble after- 
wards. 

Bud unbuckled his gun and hung the belt on his 
saddle horn, and dismounted. “ Get off your horse 
and take the damnedest licking you ever had in your 
life, for that!” he invited vengefully. ‘‘ You told me 
to tie down that steer, and I tied him down. You ’ve 
got no call to complain — and there is n’t a man on 
earth I ’ll take that kinda talk from. Crawl down, 
you parrot-faced cow-eater — and leave your gun on 
the saddle.” 

The man remained where he was and looked Bud 
over uncertainly. ** Who are you, and where ’d yuh 
come from ? ” he demanded more calmly. '' I never saw 
yuh before.” 

''Well, I never grew up with your face before me, 
either!” Bud snapped. "If I had I’d probably be 


Bud Flips a Coin with Fate 67 

cross-eyed by now. You called me something! Get 
off that horse or I 'll pull you off ! " 

"‘Aw, yuh don’t want to mind — ” began a tall, 
lean man pacifically; but he of the high nose stopped 
him with a wave of the hand, his eyes still measuring 
the face, the form and the fighting spirit of one Bud 
Birnie, standing with his coat off, quivering with rage. 

I guess I ’m in the wrong, young fellow — I did 
holler ‘ Tie ’im down.’ But if you ’d ever been around 
this outfit any you ’d have known I did n’t mean it 
literal.” He stopped and suddenly he laughed. “ I ’ve 
been yellin’ * Tie ’im down ’ for two years and more, 
when a critter breaks outa the bunch, and nobody was 
ever fool enough to tackle it before. It ’s just a sayin’ 
we’ve got, young man. We — ” 

“What about the name you called me?” Bud 
was still advancing slowly, not much appeased by the 
explanation. “ I don’t give a darn about the steer. 
You said tie him, and he ’s tied. But when you call 
me — 

“ My mistake, young feller. When I get riled up I 
don’t pick my words.” He eyed Bud sharply. 
“ You ’re mighty quick to obey orders,” he added ten- 
tatively. 

“ I was brought up to do as I ’m told,” Bud re- 
torted stiffly. “ Any objections/to make? ” 

“ Not one in the world. Wish there was more like 
yuh. You ain’t been in these parts long? ” His tone 
made a question of the statement. 

“ Not right here.” Bud had no reason save his 
temper for not giving more explicit information, but 
Bart Nelson — as Bud knew him afterwards — con- 
tinued to study him as if he suspected a blotched past. 


68 


Cow-Country 

‘‘ Hunh. That your horse ? '' 

“ I Ve got a bill of sale for him.’’ 

You don’t happen to be wanting a job, I s’pose?” 

‘‘ I would n’t refuse to take on^.” And then the 
twinkle came back to Bud’s eyes, because all at once 
the whole incident struck him as being rather funny. 
“ I ’d want a boss that expected to have his orders 
carried out, though. I lack imagination, and I never 
did try to read a man’s mind. What he says he ’d bet- 
ter mean — when he says it to me.” 

Bart Nelson gave a short laugh, turned and sent his 
riders back to their work with oaths tingling their 
ears. Bud judged that cursing was his natural form 
of speech. 

Go let up that steer, and I ’ll put you to work,” 
he said to Bud afterwards. ‘‘ That ’s a good rope 
horse you ’re riding. If you want to use him, and if 
you can hold up to that little sample of roping yuh 
gave us, I ’ll pay yuh sixty a month. And that ’s 
partly for doing what you ’re told,” he added with a 
quick look into Bud’s eyes. **Yon didn’t say where 
you ’re from — ” 

I was born and raised in cow-country, and no- 
body ’s looking for me,” Bud informed him over his 
shoulder while he remounted, and let it go at that. 
From southern Wyoming to Idaho was too far, he 
reasoned, to make it worth while stating his exact 
place of residence. If they had never heard of the 
Tomahawk outfit it would do no good to name it. If 
they had heard of it, they would wonder why the son 
of so rich a cowman as Bob Birnie should be hiring out 
as a common cowpuncher so far from home. He had 
studied the matter on his way north, and had decided 


Bud Flips a Coin with Fate 69 

to let people form their own conclusions. If he could 
not make good without the name of Bob Birnie behind 
him, the sooner he found it out the better. 

He untied the steer, drove it back into the herd and 
rode over to where the high-nosed man was helping 
hold the cut.’^ 

“ Can you read brands? We Ve cuttin' out AJ and 
A TBar stuff ; left ear-crop on the AT, and undercut on 
the AJBar.’^ 

Bud nodded and eased into the herd, spied an AJ 
two-year-old and urged it toward the outer edge, 
smiling to himself when he saw how Stopper kept his 
nose close to the animal’s rump. Once in the milling 
fringe of the herd, Stopper nipped it into the open, 
rushed it to the cut herd, wheeled and went back of his 
own accord. From the corner of his eye, as he went. 
Bud saw that Bart Nelson and one or two others were 
watching him. They continued to eye him covertly 
while he worked the herd with two other men. He 
was glad that he had not travelled far that day, and 
that he had ridden Smoky and left Stopper fresh and 
eager for his favorite pastime, which was making 
cattle do what they particularly did not want to do. 
In that he was adept, and it pleased Bud mightily to 
see how much attention Stopper was attracting. 

Not once did it occur to him that it might be him- 
self who occupied the thoughts of his boss. Buddy — 
afterwards Bud — -had lived his whole life among 
friends, his only enemies the Indians who preyed upon 
the cowmen. White men he had never learned to 
distrust, and to be distrusted had never been his por- 
tion. He had always been Bud Birnie, son and heir 
of Bob Birnie, as clean-handed a cattle king as ever 


70 Cow-Country 

recorded a brand. Even at the University his position 
had been accepted without question. That the man he 
mentally called Parrot face was puzzled and even wor- 
ried about him was the last thing he would think of. 

But it was true. Bart Nelson watched Bud, that 
afternoon. A man might ride up to Bart and assert 
that he was an old hand with cattle, and Bart would 
say nothing, but set him to work, as he had Bud. 
Then he would know just how old a ‘‘ hand ” the 
fellow was. Fifteen minutes convinced him that Bud 
had “ growed up in the saddle as he would have put 
it. But that only mystified him the more. Bart knew 
the range, and he knew every man in the country, from 
Burroback Valley, which was this great valley’s name, 
to the Black Rim, beyond the mountain range, and be- 
yond the Black Rim to the Sawtooth country. He 
knew their ways and he knew their past records. 

He knew that this young fellow came from farther 
ranges, and he would have been at a loss to explain 
just how he knew it. He would have said that Bud 
did not have the earmarks ” of an Idaho rider. Fur- 
thermore, the small Tomahawk brand on the left flank 
of the horse Bud rode was totally unknown to Bart. 
Yet the horse did not bear the marks of long riding. 
Bud himself looked as if he had just ridden out from 
some nearby ranch — and he had refused to say where 
he was from. 

Bart swore under his breath and beckoned to him a 
droopy-mustached, droopy-shouldered rider who was 
circling the herd in a droopy, spiritless manner and 
chewing tobacco with much industry. 

Dirk, you know brands from the Panhandle to 
Cypress Hills. What d’ yuh make of that horse ? 


Bud Flips a Coin with Fate 71 

Where does he come from?'’ Bart stopped abruptly 
and rode forward then to receive and drive farther 
back a galloping AJBar cow which Bud and Stopper 
had just hazed out of the herd. Dirk squinted at 
Stopper’s brand which showed cleanly in the glossy, 
new hair of early summer. He spat carefully with 
the wind and swung over to meet his boss when the 
cow was safely in the cut herd. 

“New one on me, Bart. They ’s a hatchet brand 
over close to Jackson’s Hole, somewhere. Where ’d 
the kid say he was from? ” 

“ He would n’t say, but he ’s a sure-enough cow- 
hand.” 

“ That there horse ain’t been rode down on no long 
journey,” Dirk volunteered after further scrutiny. 
And he added with the unconscious impertinence of 
an old and trusted employee, “ Yuh goin’ to put him 
on? ” 

“ Already done it — sixty a month,” Bart confided. 
“ That ’ll bring out what ’s in him ; he ’s liable to turn 
out good for the outfit. Showed he ’ll do what he ’s 
told first, and think it over afterwards. I like that 
there trait in a man.” 

Dirk pulled his droopy mustache away from his lips 
as if he wanted to make sure that his smile would 
show; though it was not a pretty smile, on account of 
his tobacco-stained teeth. 

“ ’S your fun’ral, Bart. I ’d say he ’s from Jack- 
son’s Hole, on a rough guess — but I wouldn’t pre- 
sume to guess what he ’s here fur. Mebby he come 
across from Black Rim. I can find out, if you say so.” 

Bud was weaving in and out through the herd, scan- 
ning the animals closely. While the two talked he 


72 Cow-Country 

singled out a yearling heifer, let Stopper nose it out 
beyond the bunch and drove it close to the boss. 

Better look that one over,’’ he called out. “ One 
way, it looks like AJ, and another way I could n’t name 
it. And the ear looks as if about half of it had been 
frozen off. Did n’t want to run it into the cut until 
you passed on it.” 

Bart looked first at Bud, and he looked hard. Then 
he rode over and inspected the yearling, Dirk close at 
his heels. 

“ Throw ’er back with the bunch,” he ordered. 

“ That finishes the cut, then,” Bud announced, rub- 
bing his hand along Stopper’s sweaty neck. ‘‘ I kept 
passing this critter up, and I guess the other boys did 
the same. But it ’s the last one, and I thought I ’d run 
her out for you to look over.” 

Bart grunted. ** Dirk, you take a look and see if 
they ’ve got ’em all. And you, Kid, can help haze the 
cut up the Flat — the boys ’ll show you what to do.” 

Bud, remembering Smoky and Sunfish and his camp, 
hesitated. “ I ’ve got a camp down here by the creek,” 
he said. ''If it ’s all the same to you, I ’ll report 
for work in the morning, if you ’ll tell me where to 
head for. And I ’ll have to arrange somehow to pas- 
ture my horses ; I ’ve got a couple more at camp.” 

Bart studied him for a minute, and Bud thought he 
was going to change his mind about the job, or the 
sixty dollars a month. But Bart merely told him to 
ride on up the Flat next morning, and take the first trail 
that turned to the left. “ The Muleshoe ranch is up 
there agin that pine mountain,” he explained. " Bring 
along your outfit. I guess we can take care of a 
couple of horses, all right.” 


Bud Flips a Coin with Fate 73 

That suited Bud very well, and he rode away think- 
ing how lucky he was to have taken the right fork in 
the road, that day. He had ridden straight into a job, 
and while he was not very enthusiastic over the boss, 
the other boys seemed all right, and the wages were a 
third more than he had expected to get just at first. It 
was the first time, he reminded himself, that he had 
been really tempted to locate, and he certainly had 
struck it lucky. 

He did not know that when he left the roundup his 
going had been carefully noted, and that he was no 
sooner out of sight than Dirk Tracy was riding cau- 
tiously on his trail. While he fed his horses the last 
bit of grain he had, and cooked his supper over what 
promised to be his last camp-fire, he did not dream that 
the man with the droopy mustache was lying amongst 
the bushes on the other bank of the creek, watching 
every move he made. 

He meant to be up before daylight so that he could 
strike the ranch of the Muleshoe outfit in time for 
breakfast, wherefore he went to bed before the after- 
glow had left the mountain-tops around him. And 
being young and carefree and healthfully weary, he 
was asleep and snoring gently within five minutes of 
his last wriggle into his blankets. But Dirk Tracy 
watched him for fully two hours before he decided 
that the kid was not artfully pretending, but was 
really asleep and likely to remain so for the night. 

Dirk was an extremely cautious man, but he was 
also tired, and the cold food he had eaten in place of a 
hot supper had not been satisfying to his stomach. 
He crawled carefully out of the brush, stole up the 
creek to where he had left his horse, and rode away. 


74 Cow-Country 

He was not altogether sure that he had done his full 
duty to the Muleshoe, but it was against human nature 
for a man nearing forty to lie uncovered in the brush, 
and let a numerous family of mosquitoes feed upon 
him while he listened to a young man snoring com- 
fortably in a good camp bed a hundred feet away. 

Dirk, because his conscience was not quite clear, 
slept in the stable that night and told his boss a lie 
next morning. 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


The Muleshoe 

The riders of the Muleshoe outfit were eating 
breakfast when Bud rode past the long, low-roofed 
log cabin to the corral which stood nearest the clutter 
of stables and sheds. He stopped there and waited to 
see if his new boss was anywhere in sight and would 
come to tell him where to unpack his belongings. A 
sandy complexioned young man with red eyelids and 
no lashes presently emerged from the stable and came 
toward him, his mouth sagging loosely open, his eyes 
vacuous. He was clad in faded overalls turned up a 
foot at the bottom and showing frayed, shoddy trou- 
sers beneath and rusty, run-down shoes that proved 
he was not a rider. His hat was peppered with little 
holes, as if someone had fired a charge of birdshot at 
him and had all but bagged him. 

The youth’s eyes became fixed upon the guitar and 
mandolin cases roped on top of Sunfish’s pack, and he 
pointed and gobbled something which had the sound 
of speech without being intelligible. Bud cocked an 
ear toward him inquiringly, made nothing of the jumble 
and rode off to the cabin, leading Sunfish after him. 
The fellow might or might not be the idiot he looked, 
and he might or might not keep his hands off the pack ; 
Bud was not going to take any chance. 


76 Cow-Country 

He heard sounds within the cabin, but no one ap- 
peared until he shouted, “ Hello ! ” tyice. The door 
opened then and Bart Nelson put out his head, his 
jaws working over a mouthful of food that seemed 
tough. 

‘‘ Oh, it ^s you. C’m awn in an’ eat,” he invited, 
and Bud dismounted, never guessing that his slightest 
motion had been carefully observed from the time he 
had forded the creek at the foot of the slope beyond 
the cabin. 

Bart introduced him to the men by the simple method 
of waving his hand at the group around the table and 
saying, Guess you know the boys. What ’d yuh 
say we could call yuh ? ” 

Bud — ah — Birnie,” Bud answered, swiftly 
weighing the romantic idea of using some makeshift 
name until he had made his fortune, and deciding 
against it. A false name might mean future embar- 
rassment, and he was so far from home that his father 
would never hear of him anyway. But his hesitation 
served to convince every man there that Birnie was 
not his name, and that he probably had good cause for 
concealing his own. Adding that to Dirk Tracy’s 
guess that he was from Jackson’s Hole, the sum spelled 
outlaw. 

The Muleshoe boys were careful not to seem curious 
about Bud’s past. They even refrained from mani- 
festing too much interest in the musical instruments 
until Bud himself took them out of their cases that 
evening and began tuning them. Then the half-baked, 
tongue-tied fellow came over and gobbled at him 
eagerly. 

‘‘Hen wants yuh to play something,” a man they 


The Muleshoe 


77 

called Day interpreted. ‘‘Hen^s loco on music. If 
you can sing and play both, Hen ’ll set and listen till 
plumb daylight and never move an eyewinker.” 

Bud looked up, smiled a little because Hen had no 
eyewinkers to move, and suddenly felt pity because a 
man could be so altogether unlikeable as Hen. Also 
because his mother’s face stood vividly before him for 
an instant, leaving him with a queer tightening of the 
throat and the feeling that he had been rebuked. He 
nodded to Hen, laid down the mandolin and picked up 
the guitar, turned up the a string a bit, laid a booted- 
and-spurred foot across the other knee, plucked a minor 
chord sonorously and began abruptly : 

‘*Yo’ kin talk about you coons a-havin’ trouble — 
Well, Ah think Ah have enough-a of mah 
oh-own — ” 

Hen’s high-pointed Adam’s apple slipped up and 
down in one great gulp of ecstasy. He eased slowly 
down upon the edge of the bunk beside Bud and gazed 
at him fascinatedly, his lashless eyes never winking, 
his jaw dropped so that his mouth hung half open. 
Day nudged Dirk Tracy, who parted his droopy mus- 
tache and smiled his unlovely smile, lowering his left 
eyelid unnecessarily at Bud. The dimple in Bud’s 
chin wrinkled as he bent his head and plunked the in- 
terlude with a swing that set spurred boots tapping the 
floor rhythmically. 

Bart, he ’s went and hired a show-actor, looks 
like,” Dirk confided behind his hand to Shorty 
McGuire. “That’s real singin\ if yuh ask me!” 

“ Shut up ! ” grunted Shorty, and prodded Dirk into 
silence so that he would miss none of the song. 


78 


Cow-Country 


Since Buddy had left the pink-apron stage of his 
adventurous life behind him, singing songs to please 
other people had been as much a part of his life as 
riding and roping and eating and sleeping. He had 
always sung or played or danced when he was asked 
to do so — accepting without question his mother’s 
doctrine that it was unkind and ill-bred to refuse when 
he really could do those things well, because on the 
cattle ranges indoor amusements were few, and those 
who could furnish real entertainment were fewer. 
Even at the University, coon songs and Irish songs 
and love songs had been his portion; wherefore his 
repertoire seemed endless, and if folks insisted upon 
it he could sing from dark to dawn, providing his 
voice held out. 

Hen sat with his big- jointed hands hanging loosely ^ 
over his knees and listened, stared at Bud and grinned 
vacuously when one song was done, gulped his Adam’s 
apple and listened again as raptly to the next one. The 
others forgot all about having fun watching Hen, and 
named old favorites and new ones, heard them sung 
inimitably and called for more. At midnight Bud 
blew on his blistered fingertips and shook the guitar 
gently, bottomside up. 

I guess that ’s all the music there is in the darned 
thing to-night,” he lamented. She ’s made to keep 
time, and she always strikes, along about midnight.” 

*‘Huh-huh!” chortled Hen convulsively, as if he 
understood the joke. He closed his mouth and sighed 
deeply, as one who has just wakened from a trance. 

After that. Hen followed Bud around like a pet dog, 
and found time between stable chores to groom those 
astonished horses. Stopper and Smoky and Sunfish, as 


The Muleshoe 


-79 


if they were stall-kept thoroughbreds. He had them 
coming up to the pasture gate every day for the few 
handfuls of grain he purloined for them, and their 
sleekness was a joy to behold. 

Hen, he 's adopted yuh, horses and all, looks like,” 
Dirk observed one day to Bud when they were riding 
together. And he tempered the statement by adding" 
that Hen was trusty enough, even if he didn’t have as 
much sense as the law allows. “ He sure is takin’ 
care of them cayuses of yourn. D’you tell him to?” 

Bud came out of a homesick revery and looked at 
him inquiringly. “ No, I did n’t tell him anything.” 

believe that, all right,” Dirk retorted. '‘You 
don’t go around tellin’ all yuh know. I like that in a 
feller. A man never got into trouble yet by keepin’ 
his mouth shut ; but there ’s plenty that have talked 
themselves into the pen. Me, I ’ve got no use for a 
talker.” 

Bud sent him a sidelong glance of inquiry, and 
Dirk caught him at it and grinned. 

“ Yuh been here a month, and you ain’t said a damn 
word about where you come from or anything further 
back than thro win’ and tyin’ that critter. You said 
cow-country, and that has had to do some folks that 
might be curious. Well, she’s a tearin’ big place — 
cow-country. She runs from Canady to Mexico, and 
from the corn belt to the Pacific Ocean, mighty near. 
Takes in Jackson’s Hole, and a lot uh country I know.” 
He parted his mustache and spat carefully into the 
sand. “ I ’m willin’ to tie to a man, specially a young 
feller, that can play the game the way you been playin’ 
it. Bud. Most always,” he complained vaguely, “ they 
carry their brand too damn plain. They either pull 


8o 


Cow-Country 

their hats down past their eyebrows and give every- 
body the bad eye, or else they ’re too damn ready to 
lie about themselves. You throw in with the boys 
just fine — but you ain’t told a one of ’em where you 
come from, ner why, ner nothin’.” 

I ’m here because I ’m here,” Bud chanted softly, 
his eyes stubborn even while he smiled at Dirk. 

I know — yuh sung that the first night yuh come, 
and yuh looked straight at the boss all the while you was 
singin’ it,” Dirk interrupted, and laughed slyly. “ The 
boys, they took that all in, too. And Bart, he was n’t 
asleep, neither. You sure are smooth as they make 
’em, Bud. I guess,” he leaned closer to predict con- 
fidentially, you ’ve just about passed the probation 
time, young feller. If I know the signs, the boss is 
gittin’ ready to raise yuh.” 

He looked at Bud rather sharply. Instantly the 
training of Buddy rose within Bud. His memory 
flashed back unerringly to the day when he had 
watched that Indian gallop toward the river, and had 
sneered because the Indian evidently expected him to 
follow into the undergrowth. 

Dirk Tracy did not in the least resemble an Indian, 
nor did his rambling flattery bear any likeness to a 
fleeing enemy; yet it was plain enough that he was 
trying in a bungling way to force Bud’s confidence, 
and for that reason Bud stared straight ahead and 
said nothing. 

He did not remember having sung that particular 
ditty during his first evening at the Muleshoe, nor of 
staring at the boss while he sung. He might have done 
both, he reflected ; he had sung one song after another 
for about four hours that night, and unless he sang 


The Muleshoe 


8i 


with his eyes shut he would have to look somewhere. 
That it should be taken by the whole outfit as a broad 
hint to ask no questions seemed to him rather far- 
fetched. 

Nor did he see why Dirk should compliment him on 
keeping his mouth shut, or call him smooth. He did 
not know that he had been on probation, except per- 
haps as that applied to his ability as a cow-hand. And 
he could see no valid reason why the boss should con- 
template ‘‘ raising ” him. So far, he had been doing 
no more than the rest of the boys, except when there 
was roping to be done and he and Stopper were called 
upon to distinguish themselves by fast rope-work, with 
never a miss. Sixty dollars a month was as good pay 
as he had any right to expect. 

Dirk, he decided, had given him one good tip which 
he would follow at once. Dirk had said that no man 
ever got into trouble by keeping his mouth shut. Bud 
closed his for a good half hour, and when he opened it 
again he undid all the good he had accomplished by 
his silence. 

Where does that trail go, that climbs up over the 
mountains back of that peak? ” he asked. “ Seems to 
be a stock trail. Have you got grazing land beyond 
the mountains ? ” 

Dirk took time to pry off a fresh chew of tobacco 
before he replied. You mean Thunder Pass? That 
there crosses over into the Black Rim country. Yeah 
— there *s a big wide range country over there, but 
we don’t run any stock on it. Burroback Valley’s 
big enough for the Muleshoe.” 

Bud rolled a cigarette. ** I did n’t mean that main 
trail ; that ’s a wagon road, and Thunder Pass cuts 


82 


Cow-Country 

through between Sheepeater peak and this one ahead 
of us — Gospel, you call it. What I referred to is 
that blind trail that takes off up the canyon behind the 
corrals, and crosses into the mountains the other side 
of Gospel.” 

Dirk eyed him. “ I dunno ^s I could say, right offhand, 
what trail yuh mean,” he parried. “ Every canyon ^s 
got a trail that runs up a ways, and there canyons 
all through the mountains ; they all lead up to water, or 
feed, or something like that, and then quit, most gen- 
’rally; jest peter out, like.” And he added with heavy 
sarcasm, A feller that ^s lived on the range oughta 
know what trails is for, and how they 're made. Cow- 
critters are curious — same as humans.” 

To this Bud did not reply. He was smoking and 
staring at the brushy lower slopes of the mountain 
ridge before them. He had explained quite fully 
which trail he meant. It was, as he had said, a 
‘‘blind” trail; that is, the trail lost itself in the creek 
which watered a string of corrals. Moreover, Bud 
had very keen eyes, and he had seen how a panel of 
the corral directly across the shale-rock bed of a small 
stream was really a set of bars. The round pole 
corral lent itself easily to hidden gateways, without 
any deliberate attempt at disguising their presence. 

The string of four corrals running from this upper 
one — which, he remembered, was not seen from 
nearer the stables — was perhaps a convenient ar- 
rangement in the handling of stock, although it was 
unusual. The upper corral had been built to fit snugly 
into a rocky recess in the base of the peak called 
Gospel. It was larger than some of the others, since 
it followed the contour of the basin-like recess. Ac- 


The Muleshoe 


83 

cess to it was had from the fourth corral (which from 
the ranch appeared to be the last) and from the creek- 
bed that filled the narrow mouth of the canyon behind. 

Dirk might not have understood him, Bud thought. 
He certainly should have recognized at once the trail 
Bud meant, for there was no other canyon back of the 
corrals, and even that one was not apparent to one 
looking at the face of the steep slope. Stock had 
been over that canyon trail within the last month or so, 
however; and Bud’s inference that the Muleshoe must 
have grazing ground across the mountains was nat- 
ural; the obvious explanation of its existence. 

‘‘ How ’d you come to be explorin’ around Gospel, 
anyway ? ” Dirk quizzed finally. “ A person ’d think, 
short-handed as the Muleshoe is this spring, ’t you’d 
git all the ridin’ yuh want without prognosticatin’ 
around aimless.” 

Now Bud was not a suspicious young man, and he 
had been no more than mildly inquisitive about that 
trail. But neither was he a fool; he caught the em- 
phasis which Dirk had placed on the word aimless, 
and his thoughts paused and took another look at 
Dirk’s whole conversation. There was something 
queer about it, something which made Bud sheer off 
from his usual unthinking assurance that things were 
just what they seemed. 

Immediately, however, he laughed — at himself as 
well as at Dirk. 

"‘We’ve been feeding on sour bread and warmed- 
over coffee ever since the cook disappeared and Bart 
put Hen in the kitchen,” he said. “ If I were you, 
Dirk, I would n’t blister my hands shovelling that grub 
into myself for a while. You ’re bilious, old-timer. 


84 Cow-Country 

No man on earth would talk the way you Ve been 
talking to-day unless his whole digestive apparatus 
were out of order.” 

Dirk spat angrily at a dead sage bush. They 
shore as hell would n’t talk the kinda talk you ’ve been 
talkin’ unless they was a born fool or else huntin’ 
trouble,” he retorted venomously. 

“ The doctor said I ’d be that way if I lived,” Bud 
grinned amiably, although his face had flushed at 
Dirk’s tone. “ He said it would n’t hurt me for 
work.” 

'^Yeah — and what kinda work?” Dirk rode so 
close that his horse shouldered Bud’s leg discomfort- 
ingly. “ I been edgin’ yuh along to see what-f ’r brand 
yuh carried. And I ’ve got ye now, you damned 
snoopin’ kioty. Bart, he hired yuh to work — and not 
to go prowling around lookin’ up trails that ain’t 
there—” 

“ You ’re a dim-brand reader, I don’t think ! Why 
you — ! ” 

Oh, well — remember that Bud was only Buddy 
grown bigger, and he had never lacked the spirit to 
look out for himself. Remember, too, that he must 
have acquired something of a vocabulary, in the course 
of twenty-one years of absorbing everything that came 
within his experience. 

Dirk reached for his gun, but Bud was expecting 
that. Dirk was not quite quick enough, and his hand 
therefore came forward with a jerk when he saw that 
he was “covered.” Bud leaned, pulled Dirk’s six- 
shooter from its holster and sent it spinning into a 
clump of bushes. He snatched a wicked-looking 
knife from Dirk’s boot where he had once seen Dirk 


The Muleshoe 85 

slip it sheathed when he dressed in the bunk-house, 
and sent that after the gun. 

‘‘ Now, you long-eared walrus, you Ve in a position 
to play fair. What are you going to do about it ? 
He reined away, out of Dirk’s reach, took his hand- 
kerchief and wrapped his own gun tightly to protect it 
from sand, and threw it after Dirk’s gun and the 
knife. ^‘Am I a snooping coyote?” he demanded, 
watching Dirk. 

‘‘You air. More ’n all that, you’re a damned spy! 
And I kin lick yuh an’ lass’ yuh an’ lead yuh to Bart 
like a sheep ! ” 

They dismounted, left their horses to stand with 
reins dropped, threw off their coats and fought until 
they were too tired to land another blow. There were 
no fatalities. Bud did not come out of the fray un- 
scathed and proudly conscious of his strength and 
his skill and the unquestionable righteousness of his 
cause. Instead he had three bruised knuckles and a 
rapidly swelling ear, and when his anger had cooled 
a little he felt rather foolish and wondered what had 
started them off that way. They had ridden away from 
the ranch in a very good humor, and he had harbored 
no conscious dislike of Dirk Tracy, who had been one 
individual of a type of rangemen which he had known 
all his life and had accepted as a matter of course. 

Dirk, on his part, had some trouble in stopping the 
bleeding of his nose, and by the time he reached the 
ranch his left eye was closed completely. He was 
taller and heavier than Bud, and he had not expected 
such a slugging strength behind Bud’s blows. 

He was badly shaken, and when Bud recovered the 
two guns and the knife and returned his weapons to 


86 


Cow-Country 

him, Dirk was half tempted to shoot. But he did not 
— perhaps because Bud had unwrapped his own six- 
shooter and was looking it over with the muzzle slant- 
ing a wicked eye in Dirk’s direction. 

Late that afternoon, when the boys were loafing 
around the cabin waiting for their early supper, Bud 
packed his worldly goods on Sunfish and departed 
from the Muleshoe — “ by special request ”, he admit- 
ted to himself ruefully — with his wages in gold and 
silver in his pocket and no definite idea of what he 
would do next. 

He wished he knew exactly why Bart had fired him. 
He did not believe that it was for fighting, as Bart 
had declared. He thought that perhaps Dirk Tracy 
had some hold oh the Muleshoe not apparent to the 
outsider, and that he had lied about him to Bart as a 
sneaking kind of revenge for being whipped. But 
that explanation did not altogether satisfy him, either. 

In his month at the Muleshoe he had gained a very 
fair general idea of the extent and resources of Burro- 
back Valley, but he had not made any acquaintances 
and he did not know just where to go for his next job. 
So for want of something better, he rode down to the 
little stream which he now knew was called One Creek, 
and prepared to spend the night there. In the morning 
he would make a fresh start — and because of the 
streak of stubbornness he had, he meant to make it in 
Burroback Valley, under the very nose of the Mule- 
shoe outfit. 


CHAPTER NINE 
Little Lost 

Little Lost — somehow the name appealed to Bud, 
whose instinct for harmony extended to words and 
phrases and, for that matter, to everything in the 
world that was beautiful. From the time when he first 
heard Little Lost mentioned, he had felt a vague regret 
that chance had not led him there instead of to the 
Muleshoe. Brands he had heard all his life as the 
familiar, colloquial names for ranch headquarters. 
The Muleshoe was merely a brand name. Little Lost 
was something else, and because Buddy had been 
taught to “ wait and find out ’’ and to ask questions 
only as a last resort. Bud was still in ignorance of the 
meaning of Little Lost. He knew, from careless re- 
marks made in his presence, that the mail came to Little 
Lost, and that there was some sort of store where 
certain everyday necessities were kept, for which the 
store-keeper charged ^Hwo prices.” But there was 
also a ranch, for he sometimes heard the boys mention 
the Little Lost cattle, and speak of some man as a 
rider for the Little Lost. 

So to Little Lost Bud rode blithely next morning, 
riding Stopper and leading Smoky, Sunfish and the 
pack following as a matter of course. Again his 


88 


Cow- Country 

trained instinct served him faithfully. He had a very 
good general idea of Burroback Valley, he knew that 
the Muleshoe occupied a fair part of the south side, 
and guessed that he must ride north, toward the Gold 
Gap Mountains, to find the place he wanted. 

The trail was easy, his horses were as fat as was 
good for them. In two hours of riding at his usual 
trail pace he came upon another stream which he knew 
must be Sunk Creek grown a little wider and deeper in 
its journey down the valley. He forded that with a 
great splashing, climbed the farther bank, followed a 
stubby, rocky bit of road that wound through dense 
willow and cottonwood growth, came out into a 
humpy meadow full of ant hills, gopher holes and 
soggy wet places where the water grass grew, crossed 
that and followed the road around a brushy ridge and 
found himself squarely confronting Little Lost. 

There could be no mistake, for Little Lost Post- 
Office '' was unevenly painted on the high cross-bar 
of the gate that stood wide open and permanently 
warped with long sagging. There was a hitch-rail 
outside the gate, and Bud took the hint and left his 
horses there. From the wisps of fresh hay strewn 
along the road. Bud knew that haying had begun at 
Little Lost. There were at least four cabins and a 
somewhat pretentious, story-and-a-half log house with 
vines reaching vainly to the high window sills, and 
coarse lace curtains. One of these curtains moved 
slightly, and Bud’s sharp eyes detected the movement 
and knew that his arrival was observed in spite of the 
emptiness of the yard. 

The beaten path led to a screen door which sagged 
with much slamming, leaving a wide space at the top 


Little Lost 


89 

through which flies passed in and out quite comfort- 
ably. Bud saw that, also, and his fingers itched to 
reset that door, just as he would have done for his 
mother — supposing his mother would have tolerated 
the slamming which had brought the need. Bud lifted 
his gloved knuckles to knock, saw that the room within 
was grimy and bare and meant for public use, very 
much like the office of a country hotel, with a counter 
and a set of pigeon-holes at the farther end. He 
walked in. 

No one appeared, and after ten minutes or so Bud 
guessed why, and went back to the door, pushed it 
wide open and permitted it to fly shut with a bang. 
Whereupon a girl opened the door behind the counter 
and came in, glancing at Bud with frank curiosity. 

Bud took off his hat and clanked over to the counter 
and asked if there was any mail for Bud Birnie — 
Robert Wallace Birnie. 

The girl looked at him again and smiled, and turned 
to shuffle a handful of letters. Bud employed the 
time in trying to guess just what she meant by that 
smile. 

It was not really a smile, he decided, but the be- 
ginning of one. And if that were the beginning, he 
would very much like to know what the whole smile 
would mean. The beginning hinted at things. It 
was as if she doubted the reality of the name he gave, 
and meant to conceal her doubt, or had heard some- 
thing amusing about him, or wished to be friends with 
him, or was secretly timorous and trying to appear 
merely indifferent. Or perhaps — 

She replaced the letters and turned, and rested her 
hands on the counter. She looked at him and again 


90 Cow-Country 

her lips turned at the corners in that faint, enigmatical 
beginning of a smile. 

There is n’t a thing/’ she said. “ The mail comes 
this noon again. Do you want yours sent out to any 
of the outfits? Or shall I just hold it?” 

'‘Just hold it, when there is any. At least, until I 
see whether I land a job here. I wonder where I could 
find the boss? ” Bud was glancing often at her hands. 
For a ranch girl her hands were soft and white, but 
her fingers were a bit too stubby and her nails were 
too round and flat. 

“ Uncle Dave will be home at noon. He ’s out in 
the meadow with the boys. You might sit down and 
wait.” 

Bud looked at his watch. Sitting down and waiting 
for four hours did not appeal to him, even supposing 
the girl would keep him company. But he lingered 
awhile, leaning with his elbows on the counter near her ; 
and by those obscure little conversational trails known 
to youth, he progressed considerably in his acquaint- 
ance with the girl and made her smile often without 
once feeling quite certain that he knew what was in 
her mind. 

He discovered that her name was Honora Krause, 
and that she was called Honey “ for short.” Her 
father had been Dutch and her mother a Yankee, and 
she lived with her uncle, Dave Truman, who owned 
Little Lost ranch, and took care of the mail for him, 
and attended to the store — which was nothing more 
than a supply depot kept for the accommodation of the 
neighbors. The store, she said, was in the next room. 

Bud asked her what Little Lost meant, and she 
replied that she did not know, but that it might have 


Little Lost 


91 


something to do with Sunk Creek losing itself in The 
Sinks. There was a Little Lost river, farther across 
the mountains, she said, but it did not run through 
Little Lost ranch, nor come anywhere near it. 

After that she questioned him adroitly. Perversely 
Bud declined to become confidential, and Honey Krause 
changed the subject abruptly. 

“ There ’s going to be a dance here next Friday 
night. It ’ll be a good chance to get acquainted with 
everybody — if you go. There’ll be good music, I 
guess. Uncle Dave wrote to Crater for the Saunders 
boys to come down and play. Do you know anybody 
in Crater ? ” 

The question was innocent enough, but perverse- 
ness still held Bud. He smiled and said he did not 
know anybody anywhere, any more. He said that if 
Bobbie Burns had asked him “ Should auld acquaint- 
ance be forgot,” he’d have told him yes, and he’d 
have made it good and strong. But he added that he 
was just as willing to make new acquaintance, and 
thought the dance would be a good place to begin. 

Honey gave him a provocative glance from under her 
lashes, and Bud straightened and stepped back. 

“ You let folks stop here, I take it. I ’ve a pack 
outfit and a couple of saddle horses with me. Will it 
be all right to turn them in the corral ? I hate to have 
them eat post hay all day. Or I could perhaps go 
back to the creek and camp.” 

Oh, just turn your horses in the corral and make 
yourself at home till uncle comes,” she told him with 
that tantalizing half-smile. “We keep people here — 
just for accommodation. There has to be some place 
in the valley where folks can stop. I can’t promise that 


g2 Cow-Country 

uncle will give you a job, but there 's going to be 
chicken and dumplings for dinner. And the mail will 
be in, about noon — you ’ll want to wait for that.” 

She was standing just within the screen door, 
frankly watching him as he came past the house with 
the horses, and she came out and halted him when she 
spied the top of the pack. 

You ’d better leave those things here,” she ad- 
vised him eagerly. “ I ’ll put them in the sitting- 
room by the piano. My goodness, you must be a 
whole orchestra! If you can play, maybe you and I 
can furnish the music for the dance, and save Uncle 
Dave hiring the Saunders boys. Anyway, we can play 
together, and have real good times.” 

Bud had an odd feeling that Honey was talking one 
thing with her lips, and thinking an entirely different 
set of thoughts. He eyed her covertly while he untied 
the cases, and he could have sworn that he saw her 
signal someone behind the lace curtains of the nearest 
window. He glanced carelessly that way, but the cur- 
tains were motionless. Honey was holding out her 
hands for the guitar and the mandolin when he turned, 
so Bud surrendered them and went on to the corrals. 

He did not return to the house. An old man was 
pottering around a machine shed that stood backed 
against a thick fringe of brush, and when Bud rode 
by he left his work and came after him, taking short 
steps and walking with his back bent stiffly forward 
and his hands swinging limply at his sides. 

He had a long black beard streaked with gray, and 
sharp blue eyes set deep under tufted white eyebrows. 
He seemed a friendly old man whose interest in life 
remained keen as in his youth, despite the feebleness 


Little Lost 


93 

of his body. He showed Bud where to turn the horses, 
and went to work on the pack rope, his crooked old fin- 
gers moving with the sureness of lifelong habit. He 
was eager to know all the news that Bud could tell 
him, and when he discovered that Bud had just left 
the Muleshoe, and that he had been fired because of a 
fight with Dirk Tracy, the old fellow cackled gleefully. 

Well, now, I guess you just about had yore hands 
full, young man,” he commented shrewdly. “Dirk 
ain’t so easy to lick.” 

Bud immediately wanted to know why it was taken 
for granted that he had whipped Dirk, and grandpa 
chortled again. “ Now if you hadn’t of licked Dirk, 
you would n’t of got fired,” he retorted, and pro- 
ceeded to relate a good deal of harmless gossip which 
seemed to bear out the statement. Dirk Tracy, accord- 
ing to grandpa, was the real boss of the Muleshoe, and 
Bart was merely a figure-head. 

All of this did not matter to Bud, but grandpa was 
garrulous. A good deal of information Bud received 
while the two attended to the horses and loitered at 
the corral gate. 

Grandpa admired Smoky, and looked him over 
carefully, with those caressing smoothings of mane 
and forelock which betray the lover of good horseflesh. 

“ I reckon he ’s purty fast,” he said, peering shrewdly 
into Bud’s face. “The boys has been talking about 
pulling off some horse races here next Sunday — we 
got a good, straight, hard-packed creek-bed up here a 
piece that has been cleaned of rocks fer a mile track, 
and they ’re goin’ to run a horse er two. Most gen- 
erally they do, on Sunday, if work ’s slack. You might 
git in on it, if you ’re around in these parts.” He 


g4 Cow-Country 

pushed his back straight with his palms, turned his 
head sidewise and squinted at Smoky through half- 
closed lids while he fumbled for cigarette material. 

I dunno but what I might be willin’ to put up a 
few dollars on that horse myself,” he observed, if 
you say he kin run. You would n’t go an’ lie to an old 
feller like me, would yuh, son ? ” 

Bud offered him the cigarette he had just rolled. 

No, I won’t lie to you, dad,” he grinned. “ You 
know horses too well.” 

Well, but kin he run? I want yore word on it.” 

Well — yes, he ’s always been able to turn a cow,” 
Bud admitted cautiously. 

Ever run him fer money? ” The old man began 
teetering from his toes to his heels, and to hitch his 
shoulders forward and back. 

Well, no, not for money. I Ve run him once or 
twice for fun, just trying to beat some of the boys to 
•camp, maybe.” 

‘‘Sho! That’s no way to do! No way at all!” 
The old man spat angrily into the dust of the corral. 
Then he thought of something. “ Did yuh heat ’em ? ” 
lie demanded sharply. 

Why, sure, I beat them ! ” Bud looked at him 
surprised, seemed about to say more, and let the state- 
ment stand unqualified. 

Grandpa stared at him for a minute, his blue eyes 
blinking with some secret excitement. “ Young fel- 
ler, he began abruptly, “ lemme tell yuh something. 
Yuh never want to do a thing like that agin. If you 
got a horse that can outrun the other feller’s horse, 
figure to make him bring yuh in something — if it 
a,in t no more n a quarter ! Make him bring yuh a little 


Little Lost 


95 

something. That ’s the way to do with everything yuh 
turn a hand to; make it bring yuh in something! It 
ain’t what goes out that ’ll do yuh any good — it ’s 
what comes in. You mind that. If you let a horse run 
agin another feller’s horse, bet on him to come in 
ahead — and then,” he cried fiercely, pounding one 
fist into the other palm, “ by Christmas, make ’im 
come in ahead I ” His voice cracked and went flat 
with emotion. 

He stopped suddenly and let his arms fall slack, his 
shoulders sag forward. He waggled his head and 
muttered into his beard, and glanced at Bud with a 
crafty look. 

“ If I ’d a took that to m’self, I would n’t be chorin’’ 
around here now for my own son,” he lamented. ‘‘ I ’d 
of saved the quarters, an’ I ’d of had a few dollars now 
of my own. Uh course,” he made haste to add, I git 
holt of a little, now and agin. Too old to ride — too 
old to work — jest manage to pick up a dollar er two 
new and agin — on a horse that kin run.” 

He went over to Smoky again and ran his hand 
down over the leg muscles to the hocks, felt for im- 
perfections and straightened painfully, slapped the 
horse approvingly between the forelegs and laid a hand 
on his shoulder while he turned slowly to Bud. 

'' Young feller, there ain’t a man on the place right 
now but you an’ me. What say you throw yore sad- 
dle on this horse and take ’im up to the track ? I’d 
like to see him run. Seems to me he ’d ought to be a 
purty good quarter-horse.” 

Bud hesitated. ‘‘ I would n’t mind running him,, 
grandpa, if I thought I could make something on him. 
I’ve got my stake to make, and I want to make 


96 Cow- Country 

it before all my teeth fall out so I can’t chew anything 
but the cud of reflection on my lost opportunities. If 
Smoky can run a few dollars into my pocket, I ’m 
with you.” 

Grandpa teetered forward and put out his hand. 

Shake on that, boy!” he cackled. “Pop Truman 
ain’t too old to have his little joke — and make it 
bring him in something, by Christmas! You saddle 
up and we ’ll go try him out on a quarter-mile — 
mebby a half, if he holds up good.” 

He poked a cigarette-stained forefinger against 
Bud’s chest and whispered slyly : “ My son Dave, he ’s 
got a horse in the stable that ’s been cleanin’ every- 
thing in the valley. I ’ll slip him out and up the creek- 
trail to the track, and you run that horse of yourn 
agin him. Dave, he can’t git a race outa nobody 
around here, no more, so he won’t run next Sunday. 
We ’ll jest see how yore horse runs alongside Boise. 
I kin tell purty well how you kin run agin the rest — 
Pop, he ain’t s’ thick-headed they kin fool him much. 
What say we try it ? ” 

Bud stood back and looked him over. “ You shook 
hands with me on it,” he said gravely. “ Where I 
came from, that holds a man like taking oath on a 
Bible in court. I ’m a stranger here, but I ’m going to 
expect the same standard of honor, grandpa. You 
can back out now, and I ’ll run Smoky without any 
tryout, and you can take your chance. I couldn’t 
expect you to stand by a stranger against your own 
folks — ” 

Sho ! Shucks a’mighty ! ” Grandpa spat and 
wagged his head furiously. “ My own folks ’d beat 
me in a horse race if they could, and I would n’t hold 


Little Lost 


97 

it agin ’em! Runnin’ horses is like playin’ poker. 
Every feller fer himself an’ mercy to-ward none! I 
knowed what it meant when I shook with yuh, young 
feller, and I hold ye to it. I hold ye to it! You lay 
low if I tell ye to lay low, and we ’ll make us a few 
dollars, mebby. C’m on and git that horse outa here 
b’fore somebuddy comes. It ’s mail day.” 

He waved Bud toward his saddle and took himself 
off in a shuffling kind of trot. By the time Bud had 
saddled Smoky grandpa hailed him cautiously from 
the brush-fringe beyond the corral. He motioned 
toward a small gate and Bud led Smoky that way, 
closing the gate after him. 

The old man was mounted on a clean-built bay whose 
coat shone with little glints of gold in the dark red. 
With on^ sweeping look Bud observed the points that 
told of speed, and his eyes went inquiringly to meet the 
sharp blue ones, that sparkled under the tufted white 
eyebrows of grandpa. 

Do you expect Smoky to show up the same day 
that horse arrives?” he inquired mildly. ‘‘Pop, 
you’ll have to prove to me that he won’t run Sun- 
day— ” 

Pop snorted. ‘‘ Seems to me like you do know a 
speedy horse when you see one, young feller. Beats 
me ’t you been overlookin’ what you got under yore 
saddle right now. Boise, he ’s the best runnin’ horse 
in the valley — and that’s why he won’t run next 
Sunday, ner no other Sunday till somebuddy brings in 
a strange horse to put agin him. Dave, he won’t 
crowd ye fur a race, boy. You kin refuse to run yore 
horse agin him, like the rest has done. I ’ll jest lope 
along t’day and see what yours kin do.” 


98 Cow-Country 

“ Well, all right, then.” Bud waited for the old 
man to ride ahead down the obscure trail that wound 
through the brush for half a mile or so before they 
emerged into the rough border of the creek bed. Pop 
reined in close and explained garrulously to Bud how 
this particular stream disappeared into the ground two 
miles above Little Lost, leaving the wide, level river 
bottom bone dry. 

Pop was cautious. He rode up to a rise of ground 
and scanned the country suspiciously before he led the 
way into the creek bed. Even then he kept close under 
the bank until they had passed two of the quarter-mile 
posts that had been planted in the hard sand. 

Evidently he had been doing a good deal of thinking 
during the ride; certainly he had watched Smoky. 
When he stopped under the bank opposite the half- 
mile post he dismounted more spryly than one would 
have expected. His eyes were bright, his voice sharp. 
Pop was forgetting his age. 

“ I guess I ’ll ride yore horse m’self he announced, 
and they exchanged horses under the shelter of the 
bank. “ You kin take an’ ride Boise — an’ I want you 
should beat me if you kin.” He looked at Bud ap- 
praisingly. “ I ’ll bet a dollar,” he cried suddenly, 
‘‘that I kin outrun ye, young feller! An’ you got 
the fastest horse in Burroback Valley and I don’t 
know what I got under me. I ’m seventy years old 
come September — when I ’m afoot. Are ye afraid 
to bet? ” 

“ I ’m scared a dollar’s worth that I ’ll never see you 
again to-day unless I ride back to find you,” Bud 
:grinned. 

“Any time you lose ole Pop Truman — shucks 


Little Lost 


99 

almighty ! Come on, then — I ’ll show ye the way to 
the quarter-post ! ” 

‘‘ I ’m right with you, Pop. You say so, and I ’m 
gone ! ” 

They reined in with the shadow of the post falling 
square across the necks of both horses. Pop gathered 
up the reins, set his feet in the stirrups and shrilled. 
Go, gol darn ye ! ” 

They went, like two scared rabbits down the smooth, 
yellow stretch of packed sand. Pop’s elbows stuck 
straight out, he held the reins high and leaned far over 
Smoky’s neck, his eyes glaring. Bud — oh, never 
worry about Bud! In the years that lay between 
thirteen and twenty-one Bud had learned a good many 
things, and one of them was how to get out of a horse 
all the speed there was in him. 

They went past the quarter-post and a furlong be- 
yond before either could pull up. Pop was pale and 
triumphant, and breathing harder than his mount. 

“ Here ’s your dollar. Pop — and don’t you talk in 
your sleep ! ” Bud admonished, smiling as he held out 
the dollar, but with an anxious tone in his voice. “If 
this is the best running horse you ’ve got in the valley, 
I may get some action, next Sunday ! ” 

Pop dismounted, took the dollar with a grin and 
mounted Boise — and that in spite of the fact that 
Boise was keyed up and stepping around and snorting 
for another race. Bud watched Pop queerly, remem- 
bering how feeble had been the old man whom he had 
met at the corral. 

“ Say, Pop, you ought to race a little every day,” 
he bantered. “ You ’re fifteen years younger than 
you were an hour ago.” 


loo Cow-Country 

For answer Pop felt of his back and groaned. ** Oh, 
I ’ll pay fer it, young feller ! I don’t look fer much 
peace with my back fer a week, after this. But you 
kin make sure of one thing, and that is, I ain’t goin’ to 
talk in my sleep none. By Christmas, we ’ll make this 
horse of yours bring us in something! I guess you 
better turn yore horses all out in the pasture. Dave, 
he ’ll give yuh work all right. I ’ll fix it with Dave. 
And you listen to Pop, young feller. I ’ll show ye a 
thing or two about runnin’ horses. You ’n me ’ll clean 
up a nice little bunch of money — he-he! — beat Boise 
in a quarter dash ! Tell that to Dave, an’ he would n’t 
b’lieve ye I ” 

When Pop got off at the back of the stable he could 
scarcely move, he was so stiff. But his mind was 
working well enough to see that Bud rubbed the 
saddle print off Boise and turned his own horses loose 
in the pasture, before he let him go on to the house. 
The last Bud heard from Pop that forenoon was a 
senile chuckle and a cackling, “ Outrun Boise in a 
quarter dash 1 Shucks a’mighty ! But I knew it — I 
knew he had the speed — sho I Ye can’t fool ole Pop 
— shucks 1 ” 


CHAPTER TEN 


Bud Meets the Woman 

A WOMAN was stooping at the woodpile, filling her 
arms with crooked sticks of rough-barked sage. From 
the color of her hair Bud knew that she was not 
Honey, and that she was therefore a stranger to him. 
But he swung off the path and went over to her as 
naturally as he would go to pick up a baby that had 
fallen. 

‘‘ I 'll carry that in for you," he said, and put out 
his hand to help her to her feet. 

Before he touched her she was on her feet and 
looking at him. Bud could not remember afterwards 
that she had done anything else; he seemed to have 
seen only her eyes, and into them and beyond them to 
a soul that somehow made his heart tremble. 

What she said, what he answered, was of no mo- 
ment. He could not have told afterwards what it was. 
He stooped and filled his arms with wood, and walked 
ahead of her up the pathway to the kitchen door, and 
stopped when she flitted past him to show him where 
the wood-box stood. He was conscious then of her 
slenderness and of the lightness of her steps. He 
dropped the wood into the box behind the stove on 
which kettles were steaming. There was the smell of 
chicken stewing, and the odor of fresh-baked pies. 

She smiled up at him and offered him a crisp, warm 


102 


Cow-Country 

cookie with sugared top, and he saw her eyes again and 
felt the same tremor at his heart. He pulled himself 
together and smiled back at her, thanked her and went 
out, stumbling a little on the doorstep, the cookie un- 
tasted in his fingers. 

He walked down to the corral and began fumbling 
at his pack, his thoughts hushed before the revelation 
that had come to him. 

“ Her hands — her poor, little, red hands ! ” he said 
in a whisper as the memory of them came suddenly. 
But it was her eyes that he was seeing with his mind ; 
her eyes, and what lay deep within. They troubled 
him, shook him, made him want to use his man- 
strength against something that was hurting her. He 
did not know what it could be; he did not know that 
there was anything — but oddly the memory of his 
mother’s white face back in the long ago, and of her 
tone when she said, ‘‘Oh, God, please!” came back 
and fitted themselves to the look in this woman’s eyes. 

Bud sat down on his canvas-wrapped bed and lifted 
his hat to rumple his hair and then smooth it again, 
as was his habit when worried. He looked at the 
cookie, and because he was hungry he ate it with a 
foolish feeling that he was being sentimental as the 
very devil, thinking how her hands had touched it. He 
rolled and smoked a cigarette afterwards, and won- 
dered who she was and whether she was married, and 
what her first name was. 

A quiet smoke will bring a fellow to his senses some- 
times when nothing else will, and Bud managed, by 
smoking two cigarettes in rapid succession, to restore 
himself to some degree of sanity. 

“ Funny how she made me think of mother, back 


Bud Meets the Woman 103 

when I was a kid coming up from Texas,” he mused. 
‘‘ Mother ’d like her.” It was the first time he had 
ever thought just that about a girl. “ She ’s no rela- 
tion to Honey,” he added. ‘‘ I ’d bet a horse on that.” 
He recalled how white and soft were Honey’s hands, 
and he swore a little. Would n’t hurt her to get 
out there in the kitchen and help with the cooking,” 
he criticised. Then suddenly he laughed. “ Shucks 
a’mighty, as Pop says! with those two girls on the 
ranch I ’ll gamble Dave Truman has a full crew of 
men that are plumb willing to work for their board I ” 

The stage came, and Bud turned to it relievedly. 
After that, here came Dave Truman on a deep-chested 
roan. Bud knew him by his resemblance to the old 
man, who came shuffling bent-backed from the ma- 
chine-shed as Dave passed. 

Pop beckoned, and Dave reined his horse that way 
and stopped at the shed door. The two talked for a 
minute and Dave rode on, passing Bud with a curt 
nod. Pop came over to where Bud stood leaning 
against the corral. 

“ How are you feeling, dad? ” Bud grinned absently. 

“ Purty stiff an’ sore, boy — my rheumatics is bad 
to-day.” Pop winked solemnly. “ I spoke to Dave 
about you wantin’ a job, and I guess likely Dave ’ll 
put you on. They ’s plenty to do — hayin’ cornin’ on 
and all that.” He lowered his voice mysteriously, 
though there was no man save Bud within a hundred 
feet of him. “ Don’t ye go ’n talk horses — not yet. 
Don’t let on like yore interested much. I ’ll tell yuh 
when to take ’em up.” 

The men came riding in from the hayfield, some in 
wagons, two astride harnessed work-horses, and one 


104 Cow-Country 

long-legged fellow in chaps on a mower, driving a 
sweaty team that still had life enough to jump side- 
wise when they spied Bud’s pack by the corral. The 
stage driver sauntered up and spoke to the men. Bud 
went over and began to help unhitch the team from 
the mower, and the driver eyed him sharply while he 
grinned his greeting across the backs of the horses. 

Pop says you ’re looking for work,” Dave Tru- 
man observed, coming up. “ Well, if you ain’t scared 
of it, I ’ll stake yuh to a hayfork after dinner. Where 
yuh from? ” 

‘‘ Just right now, I ’m from the Muleshoe. Bud 
Birnie ’s my name. I was telling dad why I quit.” 

Tell me,” Dave directed briefly. ‘‘ Pop ain’t as re- 
liable as he used to be. He ’d never get it out straight.” 

‘‘ I quit,” said Bud, ‘‘ by special request.” He pulled 
oif his gloves carefully and held up his puffed knuckles. 
“ I got that on Dirk Tracy.” 

The driver of the mower shot a quick, meaning 
glance at Dave, and laughed shortly. Dave grinned a 
little, but he did not ask what had been the trouble, 
as Bud had half expected him to do. Apparently Dave 
felt that he had received all the information he needed, 
for his next remark had to do with the heat. The day 
was a “weather breeder”, he declared, and he was 
glad to have another man to put at the hauling. 

An iron triangle beside the kitchen door clamored 
then, and Bud, looking quickly, saw the slim little 
woman with the big, troubled eyes striking the iron 
bar vigorously. Dave glanced at his watch and led 
the way to the house, the hay crew hurrying after him. 

Fourteen men sat down to a long table with a 
great shuffling of feet and scraping of benches, and 


Bud Meets the Woman 105 

immediately began a voracious attack upon the heaped 
platters of chicken and dumplings and the bowls of 
vegetables. Bud found a place at the end where he 
could look into the kitchen, and his eyes went that way 
as often as they dared, following the swift motions of 
the little woman who poured colTee and filled empty 
dishes and said never a word to anyone. 

He was on the point of believing her a daughter of 
the house when a square- jawed man of thirty, or there- 
about, who sat at Bud’s right hand, called her to him 
as he might have called his dog, by snapping his fingers. 

She came and stood beside Bud while the man spoke 
to her in an arrogant undertone. 

“ Marian, I told yuh I wanted tea for dinner after 
this. D’you bring me coffee on purpose, just to be 
onery ? I thought I told yuh to straighten up and quit 
that sulkin’. I ain’t going to have folks think — ” 

“ Oh, be quiet! Shame on you, before everyone! ” 
she whispered fiercely while she lifted the cup and 
saucer. 

Bud went hot all over. He did not look up when 
she returned presently with a cup of tea, but he felt 
her presence poignantly, as he had never before sensed 
the presence of a woman. When he was able to swal- 
low his wrath and meet calmly the glances of these 
strangers he turned his head casually and looked the 
man over. 

Her husband, he guessed the fellow to be. No other 
relationship could account for that tone of proprietor- 
ship, and there was no physical resemblance between 
the two. A mean devil, Bud called him mentally, 
with a narrow forehead, eyes set too far apart and the 
mouth of a brute. Someone spoke to the man, calling 


io6 Cow-Country 

him Lew, and he answered with rough good humor, 
repeating a stale witticism and laughing at it just as 
though he had not heard others say it a hundred times. 

Bud looked at him again and hated him, but he did 
not glance again at the little woman named Marian; 
for his own peace of mind he did not dare. He thought 
that he knew now what it was he had seen in the depth 
of her eyes, but there seemed to be nothing that he 
could do to help. 

That evening after supper Honey Krause called to 
him when he was starting down to the bunk-house 
with the other men. What she said was that she still 
had his guitar and mandolin, and that they needed 
exercise. What she looked was the challenge of a 
born coquette. In the kitchen dishes were rattling, 
but after they were washed there would be a little 
leisure, perhaps, for the kitchen drudge. Bud’s im- 
pulse to make his sore hands an excuse for refusing 
evaporated. It might not be wise to place himself 
deliberately in the way of getting a hurt — but youth 
never did stop to consult a sage before following the 
lure of a woman’s eyes. 

He called back to Honey that those instruments 
ought to have been put in the hayfield, where there was 
more exercise than the men could use. ‘‘You boys 
ought to come and see me safe, through with it,” he 
added to the loitering group around him. “ I ’m afraid 
of women.” 

They laughed and two or three went with him. Lew 
went on to the corral and presently appeared on horse- 
back, riding up to the kitchen and leaving his horse 
standing at the corner while he went inside and talked 
to the woman he had called Marian. 


Bud Meets the Woman 107 

Bud was carrying his guitar outside, where it was 
cooler, when he heard the fellow’s arrogant voice. 
The dishes ceased rattling for a minute, and there was 
a sharp exclamation, stifled but unmistakable. In- 
voluntarily Bud made a movement in that direction, 
when Honey’s voice stopped him with a subdued laugh. 

That ’s only Lew and Mary Ann,” she explained 
carelessly. ‘‘ They have a spat every time they come 
within gunshot of each other.” 

The lean fellow who had driven the mower, and 
whose name was Jerry Myers, edged carelessly close 
to Bud and gave him a nudge with his elbow, and a 
glance from under his eyebrows by way of emphasis. 
He turned his head slightly, saw that Honey had gone 
into the house, and muttered just above a whisper, 
“ Don’t see or hear anything. It ’s all the help you 
can give her. And for Lord’s sake don’t let on to 
Honey like you — give a cuss whether it rains or not, 
so long ’s it don’t pour too hard the night of the dance.” 

Bud looked up at the darkening sky speculatively, 
and tried not to hear the voices in the kitchen, one of 
which was brutally harsh while the other told of hate 
and fear suppressed under gentle forbearance. The 
harsh voice was almost continuous, the other infre- 
quent, reluctant to speak at all. Bud wanted to go in 
and smash his guitar over the fellow’s head, but Jerry’s 
warning held him. There were other ways, however, 
to help; if he must not drive off the tormentor, then 
he would call him away. He ignored his bruised 
knuckles and plucked the guitar strings as if he held 
a grudge against them, and then began to sing the first 
song that came into his mind — one that started in a 
rollicky fashion. 


io8 Cow-Country 

Men came straggling up from the bunk-house before 
he had finished the first chorus, and squatted on their 
heels to listen, their cigarettes glowing like red finger- 
tips in the dusk. But the voice in the kitchen talked on. 
Bud tried another — one of those old-time favorites, 
a “ laughing coon song, though he felt little enough 
in the mood for it. In the middle of the first laugh he 
heard the kitchen door slam, and Lew’s footsteps com- 
ing around the corner. He listened until the song was 
done, then mounted and rode away, Bud’s laugh fol- 
lowing him triumphantly — though Lew could not 
have guessed its meaning. 

Bud sang for two hours expectantly, but Marian 
did not appear, and Bud went off to the bunk-house 
feeling that his attempt to hearten her had been a 
failure. Of Honey he did not think at all, except to 
wonder if the two women were related in any way, and 
to feel that if they were Marian was to be pitied. At 
that point Jerry overtook him and asked for a match, 
which gave him an excuse to hold Bud behind the 
others. 

“ Honey like to have caught me, to-night,” Jerry 
observed guardedly. ‘‘ I had to think quick. I ’ll tell 
you the lay of the land. Bud, seeing you ’re a stranger 
here. Marian’s man, Lew, he’s a damned bully and 
somebody is going to draw a fine bead on him some 
day when he ain’t looking. But he stands in, so the 
less yuh take notice the better. Marian, she ’s a fine 
little woman that minds her own business, but she ’s 
getting a cold deck slipped into the game right along. 
Honey ’s jealous of her and afraid somebody ’ll give 
her a pleasant look. Lew ’s jealous, and he watches 
her like a cat watches a mouse it ’s caught and wants 


Bud Meets the Woman 109 

to play with. Between the two of ’em Marian has a 
real nice time of it. I ’m wising you up so you won’t 
hand her any more misery by trying to take her part. 
Us boys have learned to keep our mouths shut.” 

‘‘ Glad you told me,” Bud muttered. Other- 
wise — ” 

Exactly,” Jerry agreed undcrstandingly. ‘‘ Other- 
wise any of us would.” 

He stopped and then spoke in a different tone. ‘‘If 
Lew stays off the ranch long enough, maybe you ’ll 
get to hear her sing. Wow-ee, but that lady has sure 
got the meadow-larks whipped! But look out for 
Honey, old-timer.” 

Bud laughed unmirthfully. “ Looks to me as if 
you are n’t crazy over Honey,” he ventured. “ What 
has she done to you ? ” 

“Her?” Jerry inspected his cigarette, listened to 
the whisper of prudence in his ear, and turned away. 
“ Forget it. I never said a word.” He swept the 
whole subject from him with a comprehensive gesture, 
and snorted. “ I ’m gettin’ as bad as Pop,” he grinned. 
“ But lemme tell yuh something. Honey Krause runs 
more ’n the post-office.” 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 


Guile Against the Wily 

Bud liked to have his life run along accustomed 
lines with a more or less perfect balance of work and 
play, friendships and enmities. He had grown up 
with the belief that any mystery is merely a synonym 
for menace. He had learned to be wary of known 
enemies such as Indians and outlaws, and to trust im- 
plicitly his friends. To feel now, without apparent 
cause, that his friends might be enemies in disguise, 
was a new experience that harried him. 

He had come to Little Lost on Tuesday, straight 
from the Muleshoe where his presence was no longer 
desired for some reason not yet satisfactorily explained 
to him. You know what happened on Tuesday. That 
night the land crouched under a terrific electric storm, 
with crackling swords of white death dazzling from 
inky black clouds, and ear-splitting thunder close on the 
heels of it. Bud had known such storms all his life, 
yet on this night he was uneasy, vaguely disturbed. 
He caught himself wondering if Lew Morris’s wife 
was frightened, and the realization that he was worry- 
ing about her fear worried him more than ever and 
held him awake long after the fury of the storm had 
passed. 

Next day, when he came in at noon, there was Hen, 


in 


Guile Against the Wily 

from the Muleshoe, waiting for dinner before he rode 
back with the mail. Hen’s jaw dropped when he saw 
Bud riding on a Little Lost hay-wagon, and his eyes 
bulged with what Bud believed was consternation. All 
through the meal Bud had caught Hen eyeing him mis- 
erably, and looking stealthily from him to the others. 
No one paid any attention, and for that Bud was 
rather thankful; he did not want the Little Lost fel- 
lows to think that perhaps he had done something 
which he knew would hang him if it were discovered, 
which, he decided, was the mildest interpretation a 
keen observer would be apt to make of Hen’s behavior. 

When he went but. Hen was at his heels, trying to 
say something in his futile, tongue-tied gobble. Bud 
stopped and looked at him tolerantly. Hen, it ’s no 
use — you might as well be talking Chinese, for all I 
know. If it ’s important, write it down or I ’ll never 
know what ’s on your mind.” 

He pulled a note-book and a pencil from his vest- 
pocket and gave them to Hen, who looked at him 
dumbly, worked his Adam’s apple violently and re- 
treated to his horse, fumbled the mail which was tied 
in the bottom of a flour sack for safe keeping, sought a 
sheltered place where he could sit down, remained 
there a few minutes, and then returned to his horse. 
He beckoned to Bud, who was watching him curiously, 
and when Bud went over to him said something unin- 
telligible and handed back the note-book, motioning 
for caution when Bud would have opened the book at 
once. 

So Bud thanked him gravely, but with a twinkle in 
his eyes, and waited until Hen had gone and he was 
alone before he read the message. It was niysterious 


112 Cow-Country 

enough, certainly. Hen had written in a fine, cramped, 
uneven hand: 

You bee carful. bern this up & and dont let on like 
you no enything but i warn you be shure bern this up.’^ 

Bud tore out the page and burned it as requested, and 
since he was not enlightened by the warning he obeyed 
Hen’s instructions and did not let on.” But he 
could not help wondering, and was unconsciously pre- 
pared to observe little things which ordinarily would 
have passed unnoticed. 

At the dance on Friday night, for instance, there 
was a good deal of drinking and mighty little hilarity. 
Bud had been accustomed to loud talk and much horse- 
play outside among the men on such occasions, and 
even a fight or two would be accepted as a matter of 
course. But though several quart bottles were passed 
around during the night and thrown away empty into 
the bushes, the men went in and danced and came out 
again immediately to converse confidentially in small 
groups, or to smoke without much speech. The men 
of Burroback Valley were not running true to form. 

The women were much like all the women of cow- 
country: mothers with small children who early be- 
came cross and sleepy and were hushed under shawls 
on the most convenient bed, a piece of cake in their 
liands; mothers whose faces were lined too soon with 
work and ill-health, and with untidy hair that became 
untidier as the dance progressed. There were daugh- 
ters — shy and giggling to hide their shyness — Bud 
knew their type very well and made friends with them 
easily, and immediately became the centre of a clamor- 
ing audience after he had sung a song or two. 


Guile Against the Wily 1 1 3 

There was Honey, with her inscrutable half smile 
and her veiled eyes, condescending to graciousness and 
quite plainly assuming a proprietary air toward Bud, 
whom she put through whatever musical paces pleased 
her fancy. Bud, I may say, was extremely tractable. 
When Honey said sing. Bud sang ; when she said play, 
Bud sat down to the piano and played until she asked 
him to do something else. It was all very pleasant for 
Honey — and Bud ultimately won his point — Honey 
decided to extend her graciousness a little. 

Why had n’t Bud danced with Marian ? He must go 
right away and ask her to dance. Just because Lew 
was gone, Marian need not be slighted — and besides, 
there were other fellows who might want a little of 
Honey’s time. 

So Bud went away and found Marian in the pantry, 
cutting cakes while the coffee boiled, and asked her to 
dance. Marian was too tired, and she had not the 
time to spare; wherefore Bud helped himself to a knife 
and proceeded to cut cakes with geometrical precision, 
and ate all the crumbs. With his hands busy, he found 
the courage to talk to her a little. He made Marian 
laugh out loud and it was the first time he had ever 
heard her do that. 

Marian disclosed a sense of humor, and even teased 
Bud a little about Honey. But her teasing lacked that 
edge of bitterness which Bud had half expected in 
retaliation for Honey’s little air of superiority. 

“ Your precision in cutting cakes is very much like 
your accurate fingering of the piano,” she observed 
irrelevantly, surveying his work with her lips pursed. 
“ A pair of calipers would prove every piece exactly 
the same width ; and even when you play a Meditation 


1 14 Cow-Country 

I ’m sure the metronome would waggle in perfect uni- 
son with your tempo. I wonder — ” She glanced up 
at him speculatively. ‘‘ — I wonder if you think with 
such mathematical precision. Do you always find that 
two and two make four ? ” 

‘‘You mean, have I any imagination whatever?” 
Bud looked away from her eyes — toward the un- 
curtained, high little window. A face appeared there, 
as if a tall man had glanced in as he was passing by 
and halted for a second to look. Bud’s eyes met full 
the eyes of the man outside, who tilted his head back- 
ward in a significant movement and passed on. Marian 
turned her head and caught the signal, looked at Bud 
quickly, a little flush creeping into her cheeks. 

“ I hope you have a little imagination,” she said, 
lowering her voice instinctively. “ It does n’t require 
much to see that Jerry is right. The conventions are 
strictly observed at Little Lost — in the kitchen, at 
least,” she added, under her breath, with a flash of re- 
sentment. “ Run along — and the next time Honey 
asks you to play the piano, will you please play Lottis- 
blume? And when you have thrown open the prison 
windows with that, will you play Schubert’s Ave Maria 
— the way you play it — to send a breath of cool night 
air in? ” 

She put out the tips of her fingers and pressed them 
lightly against Bud’s shoulder, turning toward the 
door. Bud started, stepped into the kitchen, wheeled 
about and stood regarding her with a stubborn look 
in his eyes. 

“ I might kick the door down, too,” he said. “ I 
don’t like prisons nohow.” 

“No — just a window, thank you,” she laughed. 


Guile Against the Wily 115 

Bud thought the laugh did not go very deep. “ Jerry 
wants to talk to you. He ’s the whitest of the lot, if 
you can call that — she stopped abruptly, put out a 
hand to the door, gave him a moment to look into her 
deep, troubled eyes', and closed the door gently but 
inexorably in his face. 

Jerry was standing at the corner of the house smok- 
ing negligently. He waited until Bud had come close 
alongside him, then led the way slowly down the path 
to the corrals. 

“ I thought I heard the horses fighting,’’ he re- 
marked. ‘‘ There was a noise down this way.” 

“ Is that why you called me outside ? ” asked Bud, 
who scorned subterfuge. 

“ Yeah. I saw you was n’t dancing or singing or 
playing the piano — and I knew Honey ’d likely be 
looking you up to do one or the other, in a minute. 
She sure likes you. Bud. She don’t, everybody that 
comes along.” 

Bud did not want to discuss Honey, wherefore he 
made no reply, and they walked along in silence, the 
cool, heavy darkness grateful after the oil lamps and 
the heat of crowded rooms. As they neared the cor- 
rals a stable door creaked open and shut, yet there was 
no wind. Jerry halted, one hand going to Bud’s arm. 
They stood for a minute, and heard the swish of the 
bushes behind the corral, as if a horse were passing 
through. Jerry turned back, leading Bud by the arm. 
They were fifty feet away and the bushes were still 
again before Jerry spoke guardedly. 

“ I guess I made a mistake. There was n’t nothing,” 
he said, and dropped Bud’s arm. 

Bud stopped. There was a man riding off in the 


1 1 6 Cow-Country 

brush,” he said bluntly, and all the folks that came 
to the dance rode in through the front gate. I reckon 
I ’ll just take a look where I left my saddle, any- 
way.” 

“ That might have been some loose stock,” Jerry 
argued, but Bud went back, wondering a little at Jerry’s 
manner. 

The saddle was all right, and so was everything else, 
so far as Bud could determine in the dark, but he was 
not satisfied. He thought he understood Jerry’s rea- 
son for bringing him down to the corrals, but he could 
not understand Jerry’s attitude toward an incident 
which any man would have called suspicious. 

Bud quietly counted noses when he returned to the 
house and found that supper was being served, but he 
could not recall any man who was missing now. Every 
guest and every man on the ranch was present except 
old Pop, who had a little shack to himself and went to 
bed at dark every night. 

Bud was mystified, and he hated mysteries. More- 
over, he was working for Dave Truman, and what- 
ever might concern Little Lost concerned him also. 
But the men had begun to talk openly of their various 
running horses ”, and to exchange jibes and boasts 
and to bet a little on Sunday’s races. Bud wanted to 
miss nothing of that, and Jerry’s indifference to the 
incident at the stable served to reassure him for the 
time being. He edged close to the group where the 
talk was loudest, and listened. 

A man they called Jeff was trying to jeer his neigh- 
bors into betting against a horse called Skeeter, and 
was finding them too cautious for his liking. He 
laughed and, happening to catch Bud’s eyes upon him, 


Guile Against the Wily 1 1 7 

strode forward with an empty tin cup in his hand and 
slapped Bud friendliwise on the shoulder. 

“ Why, I bet this singin’ kid, that don’t know what 
I got ner what you fellers has got, ain’t scared to take 
a chance. Are yuh, kid ? What d’ yuh think of this 
pikin’ bunch here that has seen Skeeter come in second 
and third more times ’n what he beat, and yet is afraid 
to take a chance on losin’ two bits ? What d’ yuh think 
of ’em ? Ain’t they an onery bunch ? ” 

‘‘ I suppose they hate to lose,” Bud grinned. 

‘‘ That ’s it — money ’s more to ’em than the sport 
of kings, which is runnin’ horses. This bunch, kid, 
belly-ached till Dave took his horse Boise outa the 
game, and now, by gosh, they ’re backin’ up from my 
Skeeter, that has been beat more times than he won.” 

When you pulled him, Jeff!” a mocking voice 
drawled. “ And that was when you wasn’t bettin’, 
yourself.” 

Jeff turned injuredly to Bud. “ Now don’t that 
sound like a piker? ” he complained. ‘‘ It ain’t reason 
to claim I ’d pull my own horse. Ain’t that the out- 
doinest way to come back at a man that likes a good 
race? ” 

Bud swelled his chest and laid his hand on Jeff’s 
shoulder. ‘‘Just to show you I’m not a piker,” he 
cried recklessly, “ I ’ll bet you twenty-five dollars I 
can beat your Skeeter with my Smoky horse that I 
rode in here. Is it a go? ” 

Jeff’s jaw dropped a little, with surprise. “What 
f er horse is this here Smoky horse of yourn ? ” he 
wanted to know. 

Bud winked at the group, which cackled gleefully. 
** I love the sport of kings,” he said. “ I love it so 


1 1 8 Cow-Country 

well I don’t have to see your Skeeter horse till Sun- 
day. From the way these boys sidestep him, I guess 
he ’s a sure-enough running horse. My Smoky ’s a 
good little horse, too, but he never scared a bunch till 
they had cramps in the pockets. Still,” he added with 
a grin, “ I ’ll try anything once. I bet you twenty-five 
dollars my Smoky can beat your Skeeter.” 

“ Say, kid, honest I hate to take it away from yuh. 
Honest, I do. The way you can knock the livin’ tar 
outa that pyanny is a caution to cats. I c’d listen 
all night. But when it comes to runnin’ horses — ” 

“ Are you afraid of your money? ” Bud asked him 
arrogantly. “You called this a bunch of pikers — ” 

“ Well, by golly, it ’ll be your own fault, kid. If I 
take your money away from yuh, don’t go and blame 
it onto me. Mebbe these fellers has got some cause to 
sidestep — ” 

“ All right, the bet ’s on. And I won’t blame you if 
I lose. Smoky ’s a good little horse. Don’t think for 
a minute I ’m giving you my hard earned coin. You ’ll 
have to throw up some dust to get it, old-timer. I 
forgot to say I ’d like to make it a quarter dash.” 

“ A quarter dash it is,” Jeff agreed derisively as 
Bud turned to answer the summons of the music which 
was beginning again. 

The racing enthusiasts lingered outside, and Bud 
smiled to himself while he whirled Honey twice around 
in an old-fashioned waltz. He had them talking about 
him, and wondering about his horse. When they saw 
Smoky they would perhaps call him a chancey kid. He 
meant to ask Pop about Skeeter, though Pop seemed 
confident that Smoky would win against anything in 
the valley. 


Guile Against the Wily 1 1 9 

But on the other hand, he had seen in his short ac- 
quaintance with Little Lost that Pop was considered 
childish — that comprehensive accusation which be- 
littles the wisdom of age. The boys made it a point 
to humor him without taking him seriously. Honey 
pampered him and called him Poppy, while in Marian’s 
chill courtesy, in her averted glances. Bud had read her 
dislike of Pop. He had seen her hand shrink away 
from contact with his hand when she set his coffee 
beside his plate. 

But Bud had heard others speak respectfully of 
Boise, and regret that he was too fast to run. Pop 
might be childish on some subjects, but Bud rather 
banked on his judgment of horses — and Pop was 
penurious and anxious to win money. 

“ What are you thinking about? ” Honey demanded 
when the music stopped. ‘‘ Something awful impor- 
tant, I guess, to make you want to keep right on danc- 
ing! ” 

“ I was thinking of horse-racing,” Bud confessed, 
glad that he could tell her the truth. 

“ Ah, you ! Don’t let them make a fool of you. 
Some of the fellows would bet the shirt off their backs, 
on a horse-race! You look out for them. Bud.” 

They would n’t bet any more than I would,” Bud 
boldly declared. “ I ’ve bet already against a horse 
I ’ve never seen. How ’s that ? ” 

“ That ’s crazy. You ’ll lose, and serve you right.” 
She went off to dance with someone else, and Bud 
turned smiling to find a passable partner amongst the 
older women — for he was inclined to caution where 
strange girls were concerned. Much trouble could 
come to a stranger who danced with a girl who hap- 


120 


Cow-Country 

pened to have a jealous sweetheart, and Bud did not 
court trouble of that kind. He much preferred to 
fight over other things. Besides, he had' no wish to 
antagonize Honey. 

But his dance with some faded, heavy-footed woman 
was not to be. Jerry once more signalled him and drew 
him outside for a little private conference. Jerry was 
ill at ease and inclined to be reproachful and even con- 
demnatory. 

He wanted first to know why Bud had been such a 
many kinds of a fool as to make that bet with Jeff Hall. 
All the fellows were talking about it. “ They was ask- 
ing me what kind of a horse you Ve got — and I 
would n’t put it past Jeff and his bunch to pull some 
kind of a dirty trick on you,” he complained. Bud, on 
the square, I like you a whole lot. You seem kinda in- 
nocent, in some ways, and in other ways you don’t. I 
wish you ’d tell me just one thing, so I can sleep com- 
fortable. Have you got some scheme of your own? 
Or what the devil ails you?” 

“ Well, I ’ve just got a notion,” Bud admitted. “ I ’m 
going to have some fun watching those fellows per- 
form, whether I win or lose. I ’ve spent as much as 
twenty-five dollars on a circus, before now, and felt 
that I got the worth of my money, too. I ’m going to 
enjoy myself real well, next Sunday.” 

Jerry glanced behind him and lowered his voice, 
speaking close to Bud’s ear. “ Well, there ’s some- 
thing I’d like to say that it ain’t safe to say. Bud. 
I ’d hate like hell to see you get in trouble. Go as far 
as you like having fun — but — oh, hell ! What ’s 
the use? ” He turned abruptly and went inside, leav- 
ing Bud staring after him rather blankly. 


Guile Against the Wily 1 2 1 

Jerry did not strike Bud as being the kind of a man 
who goes around interfering with every other man’s 
business. He was a quiet, good-natured young fellow 
with quizzical eyes of that mixed color which we call 
liazel simply because there is more brown than gray 
or green. He did not talk much, but he observed much. 
Bud was strongly inclined to heed Jerry’s warning, but 
it was too vague to have any practical value — “ about 
like Hen’s note,” Bud concluded. ‘‘ Well-meaning but 
hazy. Like a red danger flag on a railroad crossing 
where the track is torn up and moved. I saw one, once, 
and my horse threw a fit at it and almost piled me. I 
figured that the red flag created the danger, where I 
was concerned. Still, I ’d like to oblige Jerry and side- 
step something or other, but ...” 

His thoughts grew less distinct, merged into word- 
less rememberings and conjectures, clarified again into 
terse sentences which never reached the medium of 
speech. 

‘‘ Well, I ’ll just make sure they don’t try out Smoke 
when I ’m not looking,” he decided, and slipped away 
in the dark. 

By a roundabout way which avoided the trail he 
managed to reach the pasture fence without being seen. 
No horses grazed in sight, and he climbed through and 
went picking his way across the lumpy meadow in the 
starlight. At the farther side he found the horses 
standing out on a sandy ridge where the mosqtiitoes 
were not quite so pestiferous. The Little Lost horses 
snorted and took to their heels, his three following 
for a short distance. 

Bud stopped and whistled a peculiar call invented 
long ago when he was just Buddy, and watched over 


122 


Cow-Country 

the Tomahawk remuda. Every horse with the Toma- 
hawk brand knew that summons — though not every 
horse would obey it. But these three had come when 
they were sucking colts, if Buddy whistled; and in 
their breaking and training, in the long trip north, they 
had not questioned its authority. They turned and 
trotted back to him now and nosed Bud’s hands which 
he held out to them. 

He petted them all and talked to them in an affec- 
tionate murmur which they answered by sundry lip- 
nibbles and subdued snorts. Smoky he singled out 
finally, rubbing his back and sides with the flat of his 
hand from shoulder to flank, and so to the rump and 
down the thigh to the hock to the scanty fetlock which 
told, to those who knew, that here was an aristocrat 
among horses. 

Smoky stood quiet, and Bud’s hand lingered there, 
smoothing the slender ankle. Bud’s fingers felt the 
fine-haired tail, then gave a little twitch. He was busy 
for a minute, kneeling in the sand with one knee, his 
head bent. Then he stood up, went forward to 
Smoky’s head, and stood rubbing the horse’s nose 
thoughtfully. 

“ I hate to do it, old boy — but I ’m working to 
make us a home — we ’ve got to work together. And 
I ’m not asking any more of you than I ’d be willing 
to do myself, if I were a horse and you were a man.” 

He gave the three horses a hasty pat apiece and 
started back across the meadow to the fence. They 
followed him like pet dogs — and when Bud glanced 
back over his shoulder he saw in the dim light that 
Smoky walked with a slight limp. 


CHAPTER TWELVE 


Sport o" Kings 

Sunday happened to be fair, with not too strong a 
wind blowing. Before noon Little Lost ranch was a 
busy place, and just before dinner it became busier. 
Horse-racing seemed to be as popular a sport in the 
valley as dancing. Indeed, men came riding in who 
had not come to the dance. The dry creek-bed where 
the horses would run had no road leading to it, so that 
all vehicles came to Little Lost and remained there 
while the passengers continued on foot to the races. 

At the corral fresh shaven men, in clean shirts to 
distinguish this as a dress-up occasion, foregathered, 
looking over the horses and making bets and arguing. 
Pop shambled here and there, smoking cigarettes furi- 
ously and keeping a keen ear toward the loudest bet- 
ting. He came sidling up to Bud, who was leading 
Smoky out of the stable, and his sharp eyes took in 
every inch of the horse and went inquiringly to Bud’s 
face. 

'' Coin’ to run him, young feller — lame as what he 
is ? ” he demanded sharply. 

“ Going to try, anyway,” said Bud. “ I ’ve got a 
bet up on him, dad.” 

Sho! Fixin’ to lose, air ye? You kin call it off. 


124 Cow-Country 

like as not. Jeff ain’t so onreason’ble ’t he 'd make 
yuh run a lame horse. Air yuh, Jeff ? ” 

Jeff strolled up and looked Smoky over with criti- 
cal eyes. “ What ’s the matter? Ain’t the kid game 
to run him? Looks to me like a good little goer.” 

“He’s got a limp — but I’ll run him anyway.” 
Bud glanced up. “ Maybe when he’s warmed up he ’ll 
forget about it.” 

“Seen my Skeeter?” 

“ Good horse, I should judge,” Bud observed in- 
differently. “ But I ain’t worrying any.” 

“ Well, neither am I,” Jeff grinned. 

Pop stood teetering back and forth, plainly uneasy. 
“ I ’d rub him right good with liniment,” he advised 
Bud. “ I ’ll git some ’t I know ought t’ help.” 

“ What ’s the matter. Pop? You got money up on 
that cayuse? ” Jeff laughed. 

Pop whirled on him. “ I ain’t got money up on him, 
no. But if he was n’t lame I ’d have some! I ’d show 
ye ’t I admire gameness in a kid. I would so.” 

Jeff nudged his neighbor into laughter. “ There 
ain’t a gamer old bird in the valley than Pop,” Jeff 
cried. “ C’m awn. Pop, I ’ll bet yuh ten dollars the 
kid beats me ! ” 

Pop was shuffling hurriedly out of the corral after 
the liniment. To Jeff’s challenge he made no reply 
whatever. The group around Jeff shooed Smoky 
gently toward the other side of the corral, thereby 
convincing themselves of the limp in his right hind 
foot. While not so pronounced as to be crippling, it 
certainly was no asset to a running horse, and the 
wise ones conferred together in undertones. 

“ That there kid ’s a born fool,” Dave Truman stated 


Sport o’ Kings 125 

positively. “ The horse can’t run. He ’s got the look 
of a speedy little animal — but shucks ! The kid don’t 
know anything about running horses. I ’ve been talk- 
ing to him, and I know. Jeff, you ’re taking the money 
away from him if you run that race.” 

“ Well, I ’m giving the kid a chance to back out,” 
JeflF hastened to declare. “ He can put it off till his 
horse gits well, if he wants to. I ain’t going to hold 
him to it. I never said I was.” 

“ That ’s mighty kind of you,” Bud said, coming 
up from behind with a bottle of liniment, and with 
Pop at his heels. “ But I ’ll run him just the same. 
Smoky has favored this foot before, and it never 
seemed to hurt him any. You need n’t think I ’m 
going to crawfish. You must think I ’m a whining 
cuss — say ! I ’ll bet another ten dollars that I don’t 
come in more than a neck behind, lame horse or not 1 ” 

** Now, kid, don’t git chancey,” Pop admonished 
uneasily. “ Twenty-five is enough money to donate to 
Jeff.” 

“ That ’s right, kid. I like your nerve,” Jeff cut in, 
emphasizing his approval with a slap on Bud’s shoulder 
as he bent to lift Smoky’s leg. ‘‘ I ’ve saw worse 
horses than this one come in ahead — it would n’t be 
no sport o’ kings if nobody took a chance.” 

“ I ’m taking chance enough,” Bud retorted without 
looking up. ‘Hf I don’t win this time I will the next, 
maybe.” 

That ’s right,” Jeff agreed heartily, winking 
broadly at the others behind Bud’s back. 

Bud rubbed Smoky’s ankle with liniment, listened to 
various and sundry self-appointed advisers and, with- 
out seeming to think how the sums would total, took 


126 Cow-Country 

several other small bets on the race. They were small 
— Pop began to teeter back and forth and lift his shoul- 
ders and pull his beard — ^^sure signs of perturbation. 

By Christmas, I ’ll just put up ten dollars on the 
kid,” Pop finally cackled. “ I ain’t got much to lose — 
but I ’ll show yuh old Pop ain’t going to see the young 
feller stand alone.” He tried to catch Bud’s eye, but 
that young man was busy saddling Smoky and re- 
turning jibe for jibe with the men around him, and 
did not glance toward Pop at all. 

I ’ll take this bottle in my pocket. Pop,” he said 
with his back toward the old man, and mounted care- 
lessly. I ’ll ride him around a little and give him 
another good rubbing before we run. I ’m betting,” 
he added to the others frankly, on the chance that 
exercise and the liniment will take the soreness out of 
that ankle. I don’t believe it amounts to anything at 
all. So if any of you fellows want to bet — ” 

Shucks ! Don’t go ’n — ” Pop began, and bit the 
sentence in two, dropping immediately into a deep 
study. The kid was getting beyond Pop’s understand- 
ing. 

A crowd of perhaps a hundred men and women — 
with a generous sprinkling of unruly juveniles — lined 
the sheer bank of the creek-bed and watched the horses 
run, and screamed their cheap witticisms at the losers, 
and their approval of those who won. The youngster 
with the mysterious past and the foolhardiness to bet 
on a lame horse they watched and discussed, the women 
plainly wishing he would win — because he was hand- 
some and young, and such a wonderful musician. The 
men were more cold-blooded. They could not see that 
Bud’s good looks or the haunting melody of his voice 


Sport o’ Kings 127 

had any bearing whatever upon his winning a race. 
They called him a fool, and either refused to bet at all 
on such a freak proposition as a lame horse running 
against Skeeter, or bet against him. A few of the 
wise ones wondered if Jeff and his bunch were merely 
'‘stringing the kid along”; if they might not let him 
win a little, just to make him more “ chancey.” But 
they did not think it wise to bet on that probability. 

While three races were being run Bud rode with the 
Little Lost men, and Smoky still limped a little. Jerry 
Myers, still self-appointed guardian of Bud, herded 
him apart and called him a fool and implored him to 
call the race off and keep his money in his own pocket. 

Bud was thinking just then about a certain little 
woman who sat on the creek bank with a wide-brimmed 
straw hat shading her wonderful eyes, and a pair of 
little, high-arched feet tapping heels absently against 
the bank wall. Honey sat beside her, and a couple of 
the valley women whom Bud had met at the dance. 
He had ridden close and paused for a few friendly 
sentences with the quartette, careful to give Honey the 
attention she plainly expected. But it was not Honey 
who wore the wide hat and owned the pretty little feet. 
Bud pulled his thoughts back from a fruitless wish 
that he might in some way help that little woman 
whose trouble looked from her eyes, and whose lips 
smiled so bravely. He did not think of possession 
when he thought of her; it was the look in her eyes, 
and the slighting tones in which Honey spoke of her. 

“ Say, come alive ! What yuh going off in a trance 
for, when I’m talking to yuh for your own good?” 
Jerry smiled whimsically, but his eyes were worried. 

Bud pulled himself together and reined closer. 


128 Cow-Country 

Don’t bet anything on this race, Jerry,” he advised. 
“Or if you do, don’t bet on Skeeter. But — well, 
I ’ll just trade you a little advice for all you ’ve given 
me. Don't bet!" 

“What the hell!” surprise jolted out of Jerry. 

“ It ’s my funeral,” Bud laughed. “ I ’m a chancey 
kid, you see — but I ’d hate to see you bet on me.” 
He pulled up to watch the next race — four nervy 
little cow-horses of true range breeding, going down 
to the quarter post. 

“ They ’re going to make false starts aplenty,” Bud 
remarked after the first fluke. “ Jeff and I have it out 
next. I ’ll just give Smoke another treatment.” He 
dismounted, looked at Jerry undecidedly and slapped 
him on the knee. “ I ’m glad to have a friend like you,” 
he said impulsively. “ There ’s a lot of two-faced sin- 
ners around here that would steal a man blind. Don’t 
think I ’m altogether a fool.” 

Jerry looked at him queer ly, opened his mouth and 
shut it again so tightly that his jawbones stood out a 
little. He watched Bud bathing Smoky’s ankle. When 
Bud ^yas through and handed Jerry the bottle to keep 
for him, Jerry held him for an instant by the hand. 

“ Say, for Gawdsake don’t talk like that promiscu- 
ous, Bud,” he begged. “ You might hit too close — ” 

“ Say, Jerry ! Ever hear that old Armenian proverb, 
‘ He who tells the truth should have one foot in the 
stirrup ’ ? I learned that in school.” 

Jerry let go Bud’s hand and took the bottle. Bud’s 
watch that had his mother’s picture pasted in the back, 
and his vest, a pocket of which contained a memo- 
randum of his wagers. Bud was stepping out of his 
chaps, and he looked up and grinned. “ Cheer up. 


sport o’ Kings 129 

Jerry. You Ve going to laugh in a minute.’’ When 
Jerry still remained thoughtful, Bud added soberly, 
“I appreciate you and old Pop standing by me. I 
don’t know just what you ’ve got on your mind, but 
the fact that there ’s something is hint enough for me.” 
Whereupon Jerry’s eyes lightened a little. 

The four horses came thundering down the track, 
throwing tiny pebbles high into the air as they passed. 
A trim little sorrel won, and there was the usual con- 
fusion of voices upraised in an effort to be heard. 
When that had subsided, interest once more centered 
on Skeeter and Smoky, who seemed to have recovered 
somewhat from his lameness. 

Not a man save Pop and Bud had placed a bet on 
Smoky, yet every man there seemed keenly interested 
in the race. They joshed Bud, who grinned and took 
it good-naturedly, and found another five dollars in 
his pocket to bet — this time with Pop, who kept eye- 
ing him sharply — and it seemed to Bud warningly. 
But Bud wanted to play his own game, this time, and 
he avoided Pop’s eyes. 

The two men rode down the hoof-scored sand to the 
quarter post, Skeeter dancing sidewise at the prospect 
of a race. Smoky now and then tentatively against 
Bud’s steady pressure of the bit. 

“ He ’s not limping now,” Bud gloated as they rode. 
But Jeff only laughed tolerantly and made no reply. 

Dave Truman started them with a pistol shot, and 
the two horses darted away. Smoky half a jump in the 
lead. His limp was forgotten, and for half the dis- 
tance he ran neck and neck with Skeeter. Then he 
dropped to Skeeter’s middle, to his flank — then ran 
with his black nose even with Skeeter’s rump. Even 


130 Cow-Country 

so it was a closer race than the crowd had expected, and 
all the cowboys began to yell themselves purple. 

But when they were yet a few leaps from the wire 
clothes-line stretched high, from post to post. Bud 
leaned forward until he lay flat alongside Smoky’s 
neck, and gave a real Indian war-whoop. Smoky 
lifted and lengthened his stride, came up again to 
Skeeter’s middle, to his shoulder, to his ears — and 
with the next leap thrust his nose past Skeeter’s as 
they finished. 

Well, then there was the usual noise, everyone try- 
ing to shout louder than his fellows. Bud rode to 
where Pop was sitting apart on a pacing gray horse 
that he always rode, and paused to say guardedly, 
‘‘ I pulled him. Pop. But at that I won, so if I can 
pry another race out of this bunch to-day, you can bet 
all you like. And you owe me five dollars,” he added 
thriftily. 

Sho ! Shucks a’mighty ! ” spluttered Pop, reach- 
ing reluctantly into his pocket for the money. ‘‘ Jeff, 
he done some pullin’ himself — I wish I knowed,” he 
added pettishly, “ just how big a fool you air.” 

‘‘Hey, come over here!” shouted 'Jeff. “What 
yuh nagging ole Pop about ? ” 

“ Pop lost five dollars on that race,” Bud called 
back, and loped over to the crowd. “ But he is n’t the 
only one. Seems to me I ’ve got quite a bunch of 
money coming to me, from this crowd! ” 

“Jeff, he ’d a beat him a mile if his bridle rein had 
busted,” an arrogant voice shouted recklessly. “ Jeff, 
you old fox, you know damn well you pulled Skeeter. 
You must love to lose, doggone yuh.” 

“If you think I did n’t run right,” Jeff retorted, as 


Sport o’ Kings 1 3 1 

if a little nettled, ‘‘ someone else can ride the horse. 
That is, if the kid here ain’t scared off with your talk. 
How about it. Bud ? Think you won fair ? ” 

Bud was collecting his money, and he did not im- 
mediately answer the challenge. When he did it was 
to offer them another race. He would not, he said, 
back down from anyone. He would bet his last cent 
on little Smoky. He became slightly vociferative and 
more than a little vain-glorious, and within half an 
hour he had once more staked all the money he had in 
the world. The number of men who wanted to bet 
with him surprised him a little. Also the fact that the 
Little Lost men were betting on Smoky. 

Honey called him over to the bank and scolded him 
in tones much like her name, and finally gave him ten 
dollars which she wanted to wager on his winning. 
As he whirled away, Marian beckoned impulsively and 
leaned forward, stretching out to him her closed hand. 

‘‘ Here ’s ten,” she smiled, “ just to show that the 
Little Lost stands by its men — and horses. Put it on 
Smoky, please.” When Bud was almost out of easy 
hearing, she called to him. “ Oh — was that a five or 
a ten dollar bill I gave you ? ” 

Bud turned back, unfolding the banknote. A very 
tightly folded scrap of paper slid into his palm. 

“ Oh, all right — I have the five here in my pocket,” 
called Marian, and laughed quite convincingly. Go 
on and run! We won’t be able to breathe freely until 
the race is over.” 

Wherefore Bud turned back, puzzled and with his 
heart jumping. For some reason Marian had taken 
this means of getting a message into his hands. What 
it could be he did not conjecture; but he had a vague. 


132 


Cow- Country 

unreasoning hope that she trusted him and was asking 
him to help her somehow. He did not think that it 
concerned the race, so he did not risk opening the note 
then, with so many people about. 

A slim, narrow-eyed youth of about Bud’s weight 
was chosen to ride Skeeter, and together they went 
back over the course to the quarter post, with Dave 
to start them and two or three others to make sure 
that the race was fair. Smoky was full now of little 
prancing steps, and held his neck^ arched while his 
nostrils flared in excitement, showing pink within. 
Skeeter persistently danced sidewise, fighting the bit, 
crazy to run. 

Skeeter made two false starts, and when the pistol 
was fired, jumped high into the air and forward, shak- 
ing his head, impatient against the restraint his rider 
put upon him. Halfway down the stretch he lunged 
sidewise toward Smoky, but that level-headed little 
horse swerved and went on, shoulder to shoulder with 
the other. At the very last Skeeter rolled a pebble 
under his foot and stumbled — and again Smoky came 
in with his slaty nose in the lead. 

Pop rode into the centre of the yelling crowd, his 
whiskers bristling. “ Shucks a’mighty ! ” he cried. 
‘'What fer ridin’ do yuh call that there? Jeff Hall, 
that feller held Skeeter in worse ’n what you did your- 
self ! I kin prove it ! I got a stop watch, an’ I timed 
’im, I did. An’ I kin tell yuh the time yore horse 
made when he run agin Dave’s Boise. He’s three 
seconds — yes, by Christmas, he ’s four seconds slower 
t’day ’n what he ’s ever run before ! What fer sport 
d’ you call that? ” His voice went up and cracked at the 
question mark like a boy in his early teens. 


Sport o’ Kings 133 

Jeff stalked forward to Skeeter’s side. ‘‘Jake, did 
you pull Skeeter? ” he demanded sternly. ‘‘ I ’ll swan 
if this ain’t the belly-achinest bunch I ever seen! How 
about it, Jake? Did Skeeter do his durndest, or did n’t 
he?” 

Shore, he did I ” Jake testified warmly. “ I ’d a 
beat, too, if he hadn’t stumbled right at the last. 
Did n’t yuh see him purty near go down? And was n’t 
he within six inches of heatin’? I leave it to the 
crowd ! ” 

The crowd was full of argument, and some bets 
were paid under protest. But they were paid, just the 
same. Burroback Valley insisted that the main points 
of racing law should be obeyed to the letter. Bud col- 
lected his winnings, the Scotch in him overlooking 
nothing whatever in the shape of a dollar. Then, un- 
der cover of getting his smoking material, he dared 
bring out Marian’s note. There were two lines in a 
fine, even hand on a cigarette paper, and Bud, relieved 
at her cleverness, unfolded the paper and read while 
he opened his bag of tobacco. The lines were like 
those in an old-fashioned copy book : 

‘‘ Winners may be losers. 

Empty pockets, safe owner.” 

And that was all. Bud sifted tobacco into the paper, 
rolled it into a cigarette and smoked it to so short a 
stub that he burnt his lips. Then he dropped it beside 
his foot and ground it into the sand while he talked. 

He would run Smoky no more that day, he declared, 
but next Sunday he would give them all a chance to 
settle their minds and win back their losings, provid- 
ing his horse’s ankle did n’t go bad again with to-day’s 


134 


Cow-Country 

running. Pop, Dave, Jeff and a few other wise ones 
examined the weak ankle and disagreed over the exact 
cause and nature of the weakness. It seemed all right. 
Smoky did not flinch from rubbing, though he did 
lift his foot away from strange hands. They ques- 
tioned Bud, who could offer no positive information 
on the subject, except that once he and Smoky had 
rolled down a bluff together, and Smoky had been 
lame for a while afterwards. 

It did not occur to anyone to ask Bud which leg 
had been lamed, and Bud did not volunteer the detail. 
An old sprain, they finally decided, and Bud replaced 
his saddle, got his chaps and coat from Jerry, who was 
smiling over an extra twenty-five dollars, and rode 
over to give the girls their winnings. 

He stayed for several minutes talking with them 
and hoping for a chance to thank Marian for her 
friendly warning. But there was none, and he rode 
away dissatisfied and wondering uneasily if Marian 
thought he was really as friendly with Honey as that 
young lady made him appear to be. 

He was one of the first to ride back to the ranch, 
and he turned Smoky in the pasture and caught up Stop- 
per to ride with Honey, who said she was going for a 
ride when the races were over, and that if he liked to 
go along she would show him the Sinks. Bud had 
professed an eagerness to see the Sinks which he did 
not feel until Marian had turned her head toward 
Honey and said in her quiet voice : 

“ Why the Sinks? You know that is n’t safe coun- 
try to ride in. Honey.” 

That ’s why I want to ride there,” Honey re- 
torted flippantly. “ I hate safe places and safe things.” 


Sport o’ Kings i35 

Marian had glanced at Bud — and it was that glance 
which he was remembering now with a puzzled sense 
that, like the note, it had meant something definite, 
something vital to his own welfare if he could only 
find the key. First it was Hen, then Jerry, and now 
Marian, all warning him vaguely of danger into which 
he might stumble if he were not careful. 

Bud was no fool, but on the other hand he was not 
one to stampede easily. He had that steadfast cour- 
age, perhaps, which could face danger and still main- 
tain his natural calm — just as his mother had cor- 
rected grammatical slips in the very sentences which 
told her of an impending outbreak of Indians long ago. 

Bud saddled Stopper and the horse which Honey was 
to ride, led them to the house and went inside to wait 
until the girl was ready. While he waited he played 
— and hoped that Marian, hearing, would know that 
he played for her; and that she would come and ex- 
plain the cryptic message. Whether Marian heard and 
appreciated the music or not, she failed to appear and 
let him know. It seemed to him that she might easily 
have come into the room for a minute when she knew 
he was there, and let him have a chance to thank her 
and ask her just what she meant. 

He was just finishing the Ave Maria which Marian 
had likened to a breath of cool air, when Honey ap- 
peared in riding skirt and light shirtwaist. She looked 
very trim and attractive, and Bud smiled upon her 
approvingly, and cut short the last strain by four 
beats, which was one way of letting Marian know that 
he considered her rather unappreciative. 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 


The Sinks 

“We can go through the pasture and cut^ off a 
couple of miles/’ said Honey when they were mounted. 
“ I hope you don’t think I ’m crazy, wanting a ride at 
this time of day, after all the excitement we ’ve had. 
But every Sunday is taken up with horse-racing till 
late in the afternoon, and during the week no one has 
time to go. And,” she added with a sidelong look at 
him, “ there ’s something about the Sinks that makes 
me love to go there. Uncle Dave won’t let me go 
alone.” 

Bud dismounted to pull down the two top bars of 
the pasture gate so that their horses could step over. 
A little way down the grassy slope Smoky and Sun- 
fish fed together, the Little Lost horses grouped nearer 
the creek. 

“ I love that little horse of yours — why, he ’s gone 
lame again ! ” exclaimed Honey. “ Is n’t that a shame ! 
You oughtn’t to run him if it does that to him.” 

“ He likes it,” said Bud carelessly as he remounted. 
“ And so do I, when I can clean up the way I did to- 
day. I ’m over three hundred dollars richer right now 
than I was this morning.” 

“ And next Sunday, maybe you ’ll be broke,” Honey 


The Sinks 


137 

added significantly. You never know how you are 
coming out. I think Jeff let you win to-day on pur- 
pose, so you ’d bet it all again and lose. He ’s like 
that. He don’t care how much he loses one day, be- 
cause he gets it back some other time. I don’t like it. 
Some of the boys never do get ahead, and you ’ll be in 
the same fix if you don’t look out.” 

“ You did n’t bring me along to lecture me, I know,” 
said Bud with a good-natured smile. What about 
the Sinks ? Is it a dangerous place as — Mrs. Morris 
says ? ” 

“ Oh, Marian ? She never does want me to come. 
She thinks I ought to stay in the house always, the 
way she does. The Sinks is — is — queer. There 
are caves, and then again deep holes straight down, 
and tracks of wildcats and lions. And in some 
places you can hear gurgles and rumbles. I love to be 
there just at sundown, because the shadows are 
spooky and it makes you feel — oh, you know — kind 
of creepy up your back. You don’t know what might 
happen. I — do you believe in ghosts and haunted 
places. Bud ? ” 

“ I ’d need a lot of scaring before I did. Are the 
Sinks haunted ? ” 

“ No-o — but there are funny noises and people 
have got lost there. Anyway they never showed up 
afterwards. The Indians claim it ’s haunted.” She 
smiled that baffling smile of hers. ‘‘ Do you want to 
turn around and go back ? ” 

“ Sure. After we Ve had our ride, and seen the 
sights.” And he added with some satisfaction, “ The 
moon ’s full to-night, and no clouds.” 

“ And I brought sandwiches,” Honey threw in as 


138 Cow-Country 

an especial blessing. Uncle Dave will be mad, I ex- 
pect. But I Ve never seen the Sinks at night, with 
moonlight.” 

She was quiet while the horses waded Sunk Creek 
and picked their way carefully over a particularly 
rocky stretch beyond. “ But what I ’d rather do,” 
she said, speaking from her thoughts which had evi- 
dently carried forward in the silence, ** is explore Cat- 
rock Canyon.” 

“ Well, why not, if we have time? ” Bud rode up 
alongside her. “ Is it far? ” 

Honey looked at him searchingly. “ You must be 
a stranger to these parts,” she said disbelievingly. 

Do you think you can make me swallow that ? ” 
Bud looked at her inquiringly, which forced her to 
go on. 

You must know about Catrock Canyon, Bud 
Bimie. Don’t try to make me believe you don’t.” 

I don’t. I never heard of it before that I remem- 
ber. What is it makes you want to explore it ? ” 
Honey studied him. “ You ’re the queerest speci- 
men I ever did see,” she exclaimed pettishly. Why, 
it ’s not going to hurt you to admit you know Catrock 
Canyon is — unexplorable.” 

“ Oh. So you want to explore it because it ’s un- 
explorable. Well, why is it unexplorable? ” 

Honey looked around her at the dry sageland they 
were crossing. “Oh, you make me tired!'" she said 
bluntly, with something of the range roughness in her 
voice. “ Because it is, that ’s all.” 

“ Then I ’d like to explore it myself,” Bud declared. 
“ For one thing,” Honey dilated, “ there ’s no way 
to get in there. Up on the ridge this side, where the 


The Sinks 


139 

rock is that throws a shadow like a cat’s head on the 
opposite wall, you can look down a ways. But the two 
sides come so close together at the top that you can’t 
see the bottom of the canyon at all. I ’ve been on the 
ridge where I could see the cat’s head.” 

Bud glanced speculatively up at the sun, and Honey, 
catching his meaning, shook her head and smiled. 

‘‘If we get into the Sinks and back to-day, they 
will do enough talking about it; or Uncle Dave will, 
and Marian. I — I thought perhaps you ’d be able to 
tell me about — Cat rock Canyon.” 

“ I ’m able to say I don’t know a thing about it. 
If no one can get into it, I should think that ’s about 
all, is n’t it ? ” 

“ Yes — you ’d think so,” Honey agreed enigmati- 
cally, and began to talk of the racing that day, and of 
the dance, and of other dances and other races yet to 
come. Bud discussed these subjects for a while and 
then asked boldly, “When’s Lew coming back?” 

“Lew?” Honey shot a swift glance at him. 
“ Why — ” She looked ahead at the forbidding, 
craggy hills toward which she had glanced when she 
spoke of Cat rock. “Why, I don’t know. How 
should I?” 

Bud saw that he had spoken unwisely. “ I was 
thinking he ’d maybe hate to miss another running 
match like to-day,” he explained guilelessly. “ Every- 
body and his dog seemed to be there to-day, and every- 
body had money up. All,” he modified, “ except the 
Muleshoe boys. I did n’t see any of them.” 

“ You won’t,” Honey told him with some emphasis. 
“ Uncle Dave and the Muleshoe are on the outs. They 
never come around except for mail and things from 


140 


Cow-Country 

the store. And most always they send Hen. Uncle 
Dave and Dirk Tracy had an awful row la^t winter. 
It was next thing to a killing. So of course the outfits 
ain’t on friendly terms.” 

This was more than Pop had gossiped to Bud, and 
since the whole thing was of no concern to him, and 
Honey plainly objected to talking about Marian’s hus- 
band, he was quite ready to fix his interest once more 
upon the Sinks. He was surprised when they emerged 
from a cluster of small, sage-covered knolls, directly 
upon the edge of what at first sight seemed to be 
another dry river bed — sprawled wider, perhaps, 
with irregular arms thrust back into the less sterile 
land. They rode down a steep, rocky trail and came 
out into the Sinks. 

It was an odd, forbidding place, and the farther up 
the gravelly bottom they rode, the more forbidding it 
became. Bud thought that in the time when Indians 
were dangerous as she-bears the Sinks would not be a 
place where a man would want to ride. There were 
too many jutting crags, too many unsuspected, black 
holes that led back — no one knew just where. 

Honey led the way to an irregular circle of water- 
washed cobbles and Bud peered down fifty feet to 
another dry, gravelly bottom seemingly a duplicate of 
the upper surface. She rode on past other caves, and 
let him look down into other holes. There were faint 
rumblings in some of these, but in none was there any 
water showing save in stagnant pools in the rock where 
the rain had fallen. 

There ’s one^cave I like to go into,” said Honey at 
last. It ’s a little farther on, but we have time 
enough. There ’s a spring inside, and we can eat our 


The Sinks 


141 

sandwiches. It is n’t dark — ^ there are openings to 
the top, and lots of funny, winding passages. That,’^ 
she finished thrillingly, “ is the place the Indians claim 
is haunted.” 

Bud did not shudder convincingly, and they rode 
slowly forward, picking their way among the rocks. 
The cave yawned wide open to the sun, which hung 
on the top of Catrock Peak. They dismounted, an- 
chored the reins with rocks and went inside. 

When Bud had been investigative Buddy, he had 
explored more caves than he could count. He had 
filched candles from his mother and had crept back 
and back until the candle flame flickered warning that 
he was nearing the ‘‘ damps.” Indians always did 
believe caves were haunted, probably because they did 
not understand the “ damps ”, and thought evil spirits 
had taken those who went in and never returned. 
Buddy had once been lost in a cave for four harrowing 
hours, and had found his way out by sheer luck, pass- 
ing the skeleton of an Indian and taking the tomahawk 
as a souvenir. 

Wherefore this particular cave, with a spring back 
fifty feet from the entrance where a shaft of sunlight 
struck the rock through some obscure slit in the rock, 
had no thrill for him. But the floor was of fine, white 
sand, and the ceiling was knobby and grotesque, and 
he was quite willing to sit there beside the spring and 
eat two sandwiches and talk foolishness with Honey, 
using that part of his mind which was not busy with 
the complexities of winning money on the speed of 
his horses when three horses represented his entire 
business capital, and with wondering what was wrong 
with Burroback Valley, that three persons of widely 


142 Cow-Country 

different viewpoints had felt it necessary to caution 
him, — and had couched their admonitions in such 
general terms that he could not feel the force of their 
warning. 

He was thinking back along his life to where false 
alarms of Indian outbreaks had played a very large 
part in the Tomahawk’s affairs, and how little of the 
ranch work would ever have been done had they lis- 
tened to every calamity howler that came along. Honey 
was talking, and he was answering partly at random, 
when she suddenly laughed and got up. 

“You must be in love. Bud Birnie. You just said 
^ yes ’ when I asked you if you did n’t think water 
snakes would be coming out this fall with their stripes 
running round them instead of lengthwise! You 
did n’t hear a word — now, did you? ” 

“ I heard music,’’ Bud lied gallantly, “ and I knew 
it was your voice. I ’d probably say yes if you asked 
me whether the moon would n’t look better with a 
ruffle around it.” 

“ I ’ll say the moon will be wondering where we are, 
if we don’t start back. The sun ’s down.” 

Bud got up from sitting cross-legged like a Turk, 
helped Honey to her feet — and felt her fingers cling- 
ing warmly to his own. He led the way to the cave’s 
mouth, not looking at her. “ Great sunset,” he ob- 
served carelessly, glancing up at the ridge while he 
held her horse for her to mount. 

Honey showed that she was perfectly at home in 
the saddle. She rode on ahead, leaving Bud to mount 
and follow. He was just swinging leisurely into the 
saddle when Stopper threw his head around, glancing 
back toward the level just beyond the cave. At the 


The Sinks 


143 

same instant Bud heard the familiar, unmistakable 
swish of a rope headed his way. 

He flattened himself along Stopper’s left shoulder 
as the loop settled and tightened on the saddle horn, 
and dropped on to the ground as Stopper whirled 
automatically to the right and braced himself against 
the strain. Bud turned half kneeling, his gun in his 
hand ready for the shot he expected would follow the 
rope. But Stopper was in action -4- the best rope- 
horse the Tomahawk had ever owned. For a few 
seconds he stood braced, his neck arched, his eyes 
bright and watchful. Then he leaped forward, straight 
at the horse and the rider who was in the act of level- 
ing his gun. The horse hesitated, taken unaware by 
the onslaught. When he started to run Stopper was 
already passing him, turning sharply to the right again 
so that the rope raked the horse’s front legs. Two 
jumps and Stopper had stopped, faced the horse and 
stood braced again, his ears perked knowingly while 
he waited for the flop. 

It came — just as it always did come when Stopper 
got action on the end of a rope. Horse and rider 
came down together. They would not get up until 
Bud wished it — he could trust Stopper for that — so 
Bud walked over to the heap, his gun ready for action 
— and that, too, could be trusted to perform with what 
speed and precision was necessary. There would be 
no hasty shooting, however; Buddy had learned to 
save his bullets for real need when ammunition was not 
to be had for the asking, and grown-up Bud had never 
outgrown the habit. 

He picked up the fellow’s six-shooter which he had 
dropped when he fell, and stood sizing up the situation. 


144 


Cow-Country 

By the neckerchief drawn across his face it was a 
straight case of holdup. Bud stooped and yanked off 
the mask and looked into the glaring eyes of one whom 
he had never before seen. 

“Well, how d’ yuh like it, far as you've got?" 
Bud asked curiously. “ Think you were holding up a 
pilgrim, or what? " 

Just then, ping-gg sang a rifle bullet from the ridge 
above the cave. Bud looked that way and spied a man 
standing half revealed against the rosy clouds that 
were-already dulling as dusk crept up from the low 
ground. It was a long shot for a six-shooter, but 
Buddy used to shoot antelope almost that far, so Bud 
lifted his arm and straightened it, just as if he were 
pointing a finger at the man, and fired. He had the 
satisfaction of seeing the figure jerk backward and 
go off over the ridge in a stooping kind of run. 

“ He 'd better hurry back if he wants another shot 
at me," Bud grinned. “ It 'll be so dark down here in 
a minute he could n't pick me up with his front sight 
if I was — as big a fool as you are. How about it? 
I 'll just lead you into camp, I think — but you sure 
as hell could n't get a job roping gateposts, on the 
strength of this little exhibition." 

He went over to Stopper and untied his own rope, 
giving an approving pat to that business-like animal. 
“ Hope your leg is n't broken or anything," he said 
to the man when he returned and passed the loop over 
the fellow's head and shoulders, drawing it rather 
snugly around his body and pinning his arms at the 
elbows. “ It would be kind of unpleasant if they hap- 
pen to take a notion to make you walk all the way to 
jail." 


The Sinks 


145 

He beckoned Stopper, who immediately moved up, 
slackening the rope. The thrown horse drew up his 
knees, gave a preliminary heave and scrambled to his 
feet. Bud taking care that the man was pulled free and 
safe. The fellow stood up sulkily defiant, unable to 
rest much of his weight on his left leg. 

Bud had ten busy minutes, and it was not until they 
were both mounted and headed for Little Lost, the 
captive with his arms tied behind him, his feet tied to- 
gether under the horse, which Bud led, that Bud had 
time to wonder what it was all about. Then he began 
to look for Honey, who had disappeared. But in the 
softened light of the rising moon mingling with the 
afterglow of sunset, he saw the deep imprints of her 
horse's hoofs where he had galloped homeward. Bud 
did not think she ran away because she was frightened ; 
she had seemed too sure of herself for that. She had 
probably gone for help. 

A swift suspicion that the attack might have been 
made from jealousy died when Bud looked again at 
his prisoner. The man was swarthy, low of brow — 
part Indian, by the look of him. Honey would never 
give the fellow a second thought. So that brought him 
to the supposition that robbery had been intended, and 
the inference was made more logical when Bud remem- 
bered that Marian had warned him against something 
of the sort. Probably he and Honey had been fol- 
lowed into the Sinks, and even though Bud had not 
seen this man at the races, his partner up on the ridge 
might have been there. It was all very simple, and 
Bud, having arrived at the obvious conclusion, touched 
Stopper into a lope and arrived at Little Lost just as 
Dave Truman and three of his men were riding down 


146 Cow-Country 

into Sunk Creek ford on their way to the Sinks. They 
pulled up, staring hard at Dave and his captive. Dave 
spoke first. 

“ Honey said you was waylaid and robbed or killed 
— both, we took it, from her account. How ’d yuh 
come to get the best of it so quick? ” 

“ Why, his horse got tangled up in the rope and 
fell down, and I fell on top of him,” Bud explained 
cheerfully. “ I was bringing him in. He ’s a bad citi- 
zen, I should judge, but he did n’t do me any damage, 
as it turned out, so I don’t know what to do with him. 
I ’ll just turn him over to you, I think.” 

Hell ! I don’t want him,” Dave protested. I ’ll 
pass him along to the sheriff — he may know some- 
thing about him. Nelse and Charlie, you take and run 
him in to Crater and turn him over to Kline. You 
tell Kline what he done — or tried to do. Was he 
alone. Bud ? ” 

“ He had a partner up on the ridge, so far off I 
could n’t swear to him if I saw him face to face. I 
took a shot at him, and I think I nicked him. He 
ducked, and there were n’t any more rifle bullets com- 
ing my way.” 

“ You nicked him with your six-shooter? And him 
so far off you could n’t recognize him again? ” Dave 
looked at Bud sharply. “ That ’s purty good shootin’, 
strikes me.” 

“ Well, he stood up against the sky-line, and he 
was n’t more than seventy-five yards,” Bud explained. 

I ’ve dropped antelope that far, plenty of times. The 
light was bad, this evening.” 

Antelope,” Dave repeated meditatively, and 
winked at his men. “ All right. Bud — ^ we ’ll let it 


The Sinks 


147 


stand at antelope. Boys, you hit for Crater with this 
fellow. You ought to make it there and back by to- 
morrow noon, all right.” 

Nelse took the lead rope from Bud and the two 
started off up the creek, meaning to strike the road 
from Little Lost to Crater, the county seat beyond 
Gold Gap mountains. Bud rode on to the ranch with 
his boss, and tried to answer Dave’s questions satis- 
factorily without relating his own prowess or divulg- 
ing too much of Stopper’s skill; which was something 
of a problem for his wits. 

Honey ran out to meet him and had to be assured 
over and over that he was not hurt, and that he had 
lost nothing but his temper and the ride home with her 
in the moonlight. She was plainly upset and anxious 
that he should not think her cowardly, to leave him 
that way. 

“ I looked back and saw a man throwing his rope, 
and you — it looked as if he had dragged you off the 
horse. I was sure I saw you falling. So I ran my 
horse all the way home, to get Uncle Dave and the 
boys,” she told him tremulously. And then she added, 
with her tantalizing half smile, ** I believe that horse 
of mine could beat Smoky or Skeeter, if I was scared 
that bad at the beginning of a race.” 

Bud, in sheer gratitude for her anxiety over him, 
patted Honey’s hand and told her she must have broken 
the record, all right, and that she had done exactly the 
right thing. And Honey went to bed happy that 
night. 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 


Even Mushrooms Help 

Bud wanted to have a little confidential talk with 
Marian. He hoped that she would be willing to tell 
him a great deal more than could be written on one 
side of a cigarette paper, and he was curious to hear 
what it was. On the other hand, he wanted somehow 
to let her know that he was anxious to help her in any 
way possible. She needed help, of that he was sure. 

Lew returned on Tuesday, with a vile temper and 
rheumatism in his left shoulder so that he could not 
work, but stayed around the house and too evidently 
made his wife miserable by his presence. On Wednes- 
day morning Marian had her hair dressed so low 
over her ears that she resembled a lady of old Colonial 
days — but she did not quite conceal from Bud’s keen 
eyes the ugly bruise on her temple. She was pale and 
her lips were compressed as if she were afraid to relax 
lest she burst out in tears or in a violent denunciation 
of some kind. Bud dared not look at her, nor at Lew, 
who sat glowering at Bud’s right hand. He tried to 
eat, tried to swallow his coffee, and finally gave up the 
attempt and left the table. 

In getting up he touched Lew’s shoulder with his 
elbow, and Lew let out a bellow of pain and an oath, 
and leaned away from him, his right hand up to ward 
off another hurt. 


Even Mushrooms Help 149 

“ Pardon me. I forgot your rheumatism,” Bud 
apologized perfunctorily, his face going red at the 
epithet. Marian, coming toward him with a plate of 
biscuits, looked him full in the eyes and turned her 
glance to her husband’s back while her lips curled in 
the bitterest, the most scornful smile Bud had ever 
seen on a woman’s face. She did not speak — speech 
was impossible before that tableful of men — but Bud 
went out feeling as though she had told him that her 
contempt for Lew was beyond words, and that his 
rheumatism brought no pity whatever. 

Wednesday passed, Thursday came, and still there 
was no chance to speak a word in private. The kitchen 
drudge was hedged about by open ears and curious 
eyes, and save at meal-time she was invisible to the 
men unless they glimpsed her for a moment in the 
kitchen door. 

Thursday brought a thunder storm with plenty of 
rain, and in the drizzle that held over until Friday 
noon Bud went out to an old calf shed which he had 
discovered in the edge of the pasture, and gathered 
his neckerchief full of mushrooms. Bud hated mush- 
rooms, but he carried them to the machine shed and 
waited until he was sure that Honey was in the sitting 
room playing the piano — and hitting what Bud called 
a blue note now and then — and that Lew was in the 
bunk-house with the other men, and Dave and old Pop 
were in Pop’s shack. Then, and then only. Bud took 
long steps to the kitchen door, carrying his mush- 
rooms as tenderly as though they were eggs for hatch- 
ing. 

Marian was up to her dimpled elbows in bread 
dough when he went in. Honey was still groping her 


150 Cow-Country 

way lumpily through the Blue Danube Waltz, and 
Bud stood so that he could look out through the white- 
curtained window over the kitchen table and make sure 
that no one approached the house unseen. 

Here are some mushrooms,” he said guardedly, 
lest his voice should carry to Honey. “ They Te just 
an excuse. Far as I ’m concerned you can feed them 
to the hogs. I like things clean and natural and 
wholesome, myself. I came to find out what ’s the 
matter, Mrs. Morris. Is there anything I can do? I 
took the hint you gave me in the note, Sunday, and I 
discovered right away you knew what you were talk- 
ing about. That was a holdup down in the Sinks. It 
could n’t have been anything else. But they would n’t 
have got anything. I did n’t have more than a dollar 
in my pocket.” 

Marian turned her head, and listened to the piano, 
and glanced up at him. 

‘‘ I also like things clean and natural and whole- 
some,” she said quietly. ‘‘ That ’s why I tried to put 
you on your guard. You don’t seem to fit in, some- 
how, with — the surroundings. I happen to know 
that the races held here every Sunday are just thinly 
veiled attempts to cheat the unwary out of every cent 
they have. I should advise you, Mr. Birnie, to be 
very careful how you bet on any horses.” 

“ I shall,” Bud smiled. Pop gave me some good 
advice, too, about running horses. He says, ‘ It ’s 
every fellow for himself, and mercy toward none.’ 
I ’m playing by their rule, and Pop expects to make a 
few dollars, too. He said he ’d stand by rhe.” 

‘‘ Oh ! He did ? ” Marian’s voice puzzled Bud. She 
kneaded the bread vigorously for a minute. “ Don’t 


Even Mushrooms Help 151 

depend too much on Pop, He ’s — variable. And 
don’t go around with a dollar in your pocket — unless 
you don’t mind losing that dollar. There are men in 
this country who would willingly dispense with the 
formality of racing a horse in order to get your 
money.” 

Yes — I’ve discovered one informal method al- 
ready. I wish I knew how I could help you.” 

‘‘ Help me — in what way ? ” Marian glanced out 
of the window again as if that were a habit she had 
formed. 

‘‘ I don’t know. I wish I did. I thought perhaps 
you had some trouble that — My mother had the 
same look in her eyes when we came back to the ranch 
after some Indian trouble, and found the house burned 
and everything destroyed but the ground itself. She 
did n’t say anything much. She just began helping 
father plan how we ’d manage until we could get ma- 
terial and build another cabin, and make our supplies 
hold out. She did n’t complain. But her eyes had the 
same look I ’ve seen in yours, Mrs. Morris. So I feel 
as if I ought to help you, just as I ’d help mother.” 
Bud’s face had been, red and Embarrassed when he 
began, but his earnestness served to erase his self- 
consciousness. 

“ You ’re different — just like mother,” he went on 
when Marian did not answer. ‘‘ You don’t belong 
here drudging in this kitchen. I never saw a woman 
doing a man’s work before. They ought to have a 
man cooking for all these hulking men.” 

“ Oh, the kitchen ! ” Marian exclaimed impatiently. 

I don’t mind the cooking. That ’s the least — ” 

It is n’t right, just the same. I — I don’t suppose 


152 Cow-Country 

that it altogether. I ’m not trying to find out what 
the trouble is — but I wish you ’d remember that I ’m 
ready to do anything in the world that I can. You 
won’t misunderstand that, I ’m sure.” 

“ No-o,” said Marian slowly. But you see, there ’s 
nothing that you can do — except, perhaps, make 
things worse for me.” Then, to lighten that state- 
ment, she smiled at him. Just now you can help me 
very much if you will go in and play something be- 
sides the Blue Danube Waltz. I ’ve had to listen to 
that ever since Honora sent away for the music with 
the winter’s grocery order, last October. Tell Honora 
you got her some mushrooms. And don’t trust any- 
one. If you must bet on the horses, do so with your 
eyes open. They ’re cheats — and worse, some of 
them.” 

Bud’s glance followed hers through the window that 
overlooked the corrals and the outbuildings. Lew 
was coming up to the house with a slicker over his 
head to keep off the drizzle. 

Well, remember I ’d do anything for you that I ’d 
do for my mother or my sister Dulcie. And I wish 
you ’d call on me just as they would, if you get in a 
pinch and need me. If I know you ’ll do that I ’ll 
feel a lot better satisfied.” 

*Hf I need you be sure that I shall let you know. 
And I ’ll say that it ’s a comfort to have met one 
white man,” Marian assured him hurriedly, her anx- 
ious eyes on her approaching husband. 

She need not have worried over his coming, so far 
as Bud was concerned. For Bud was in the sitting- 
room and had picked Honey off the piano stool, had 
given her a playful shake and was playing the Blue 


Even Mushrooms Help 153 

Danube as its composer intended that it should be 
played, when Lew entered the kitchen and kicked the 
door shut behind him. 

Bud spent the forenoon conscientiously trying to 
teach Honey that the rests are quite as important to 
the tempo of a waltz measure as are the notes. Honey’s 
talent for music did not measure up to her talent for 
coquetry; she received about five dollars’ worth of in- 
struction and no blandishments whatever, and although 
she no doubt profited thereby, at last she balked and put 
her lazy white hands over her ears and refused to 
listen to Bud’s inexorable “ One, two, three, one, two, 
three-and one, two, three.” Whereupon Bud laughed 
and returned to the bunk-house. 

He arrived in the middle of a heated argument over 
Jeff Hall’s tactics in racing Skeeter, and immediately 
was called upon for his private, personal opinion of 
Sunday’s race. Bud’s private, personal opinion be- 
ing exceedingly private and personal, he threw out a 
skirmish line of banter. 

Smoky could run circles around that Skeeter horse, 
he boasted, and Jeff’s manner of riding was absolutely 
unimportant, non-essential and immaterial. He was 
mighty glad that holdup man had fallen down, last 
Sunday, before he got his hands on any money, be- 
cause that money was going to talk long and loud to 
Jeff Hall next Sunday. Now that Bud had started 
running his horse for money, working for wages 
looked foolish and unprofitable. He was now work- 
ing merely for healthful exercise and to pass the time 
away between Sundays. His real mission in life, he 
had discovered, was to teach Jeff’s bunch that gam- 
bling is a sin. 


154 Cow-Country 

The talk was carried enthusiastically to the dinner 
table, where Bud ignored the scowling proximity of 
Lew and repeated his boasts in a revised form as an 
indirect means of letting Marian know that he meant 
to play the Burroback game in the Burroback way — or 
as nearly as he could — and keep his honesty more or 
less intact. He did not think she would approve, but 
he wanted her to know. 

Once, when Buddy was fifteen, four thoroughbred 
cows and four calves disappeared mysteriously from 
the home ranch just before the calves had reached 
branding age. Buddy rode the hills and the valleys 
every spare minute for two weeks in search of them, 
and finally, away over the ridge where an undesirable 
neighbor was getting a start in cattle. Buddy found 
the calves in a fenced field with eight calves belonging 
— perhaps — to the undesirable neighbor. 

Buddy did not ride down to the ranch and accuse 
the neighbor of stealing the calves. Instead, he pains- 
takingly sought a weak place in the fence, made a 
very accidental looking hole and drove out the twelve 
calves, took them over the ridge to Tomahawk and 
left them in a high, mountain meadow pretty well 
surrounded by matted thickets. There, because there 
was good grass and running water, the calves seemed 
quite as happy as in the field. 

Then Buddy hurried home and brought a branding 
iron and a fresh horse, and by working very hard and 
fast, he somehow managed to plant a deep tomahawk 
brand on each one of the twelve calves. He returned 
home very late and very proud of himself, and met his 
father face to face as he was putting away the iron. 
Explanations and a broken harness strap mingled pain- 


Even Mushrooms Help 155 

fully in Buddy’s memory for a long time afterwards, 
but the full effect of the beating was lost because 
Buddy happened to hear Bob Birnie confide to mother 
that the lad had served the old cattle- thief right, and 
that any man who could start with one thoroughbred 
cow and in four years have sufficient increase from 
that cow to produce eight calves a season, ought to 
lose them all. 

Buddy had not needed his father’s opinion to 
strengthen his own conviction that he had performed 
a worthy deed and one of which no man need feel 
ashamed. Indeed, Buddy considered the painful in- 
cident of the buggy strap a parental effort at official 
discipline, and held no particular grudge against his 
father after the welts had disappeared from his person. 

Wherefore Bud, the man, held unswervingly to the 
ethical standard of Buddy the boy. If Burroback 
Valley was scheming to fleece a stranger at their races 
and rob him by force if he happened to win, then Bud 
felt justified in getting every dollar possible out of the 
lot of them. At any rate, he told himself, he would 
do his darndest. It was plain enough that Pop was 
trying to make an opportunity to talk confidentially, 
but with a dozen men on the place it was easy enough 
to avoid being alone without arousing the old man’s 
suspicions. Marian had told him to trust no one; and 
Bud, with his usual thoroughness, applied the warn- 
ing literally. 

Sunday morning he caught up Smoky and rode him 
to the corral. Smoky had recovered from his lame- 
ness, and while Bud groomed him for the afternoon’s 
running the men of Little Lost gathered round him 
and offered advice and encouragement, and even vol- 


156 Cow-Country 

unteered to lend him money if he needed it. But Bud 
told them to put up their own bets, and never to 
worry about him. Their advice and their encourage- 
ment, however, he accepted as cheerfully as they were 
given. 

‘‘ Think yuh can beat Skeeter, young feller ? Pop 
shambled up to inquire anxiously, his beard brushing 
Bud’s shoulder while he leaned close. “ Remember 
what I told ye. You stick by me an’ I ’ll stick by you. 
You shook on it, don’t forgit that, young feller.” 

Bud had forgotten, but he made haste to redeem 
his promise. “ Last Sunday, Pop, I had to play it 
alone. To-day — well, if you want to make an honest 
dollar, you know what to do, don’t you ? ” 

‘‘ Sho ! I ’m bettin’ on yore horse t’day, an’ mind 
ye, I want to see my money doubled ! But that there 
lameness in his left hind ankle — I don’t see but what 
that kinda changes my opinion a little mite. You 
shore he won’t quit on ye in the race, now ? Don’t lie 
to ole Pop, young feller! ” 

Say ! He ’s the gamest little horse in the state. 
Pop. He never has quit, and he never will.” Bud 
stood up and laid a friendly hand on the old fellow’s 
shoulder. “ Pop, I ’m running him to-day to win. 
That ’s the truth. I ’m going to put all I ’ve got on 
him. Is that good enough ? ” 

“ Shucks a’mighty ! That ’s good enough f er me, 
— plenty good fer me,” Pop cackled, and trotted off to 
find someone who had little enough faith in Smoky 
to wager a two-to-one against him. 

It seemed to Bud that the crowd was larger than 
that of a week ago, and there was no doubt whatever 
that the betting was more feverish, and that Jeff meant 


Even Mushrooms Help 157 

that day to retrieve his losses. Bud passed up a very 
good chance to win on other races, and centred all 
his betting on Smoky. He had been throughout the 
week boastful and full of confidence, and now he 
swaggered and lifted his voice in arrogant challenge 
to all and sundry. His three hundred dollars was on 
the race, and incidentally, he never left Smoky from 
the time he led him up from pasture until the time 
came when he and Jeff Hall rode side by side down 
to the quarter post. 

They came up in a small whirlwind of speed and 
dust, and Smoky was under the wire to his ears when 
Skeeter's nose showed beyond it. Little Lost was 
jubilant. Jeff Hall and his backers were not. 

Bud^s three hundred dollars had in less than a min- 
ute increased to a little over nine hundred, though all 
his bets had been moderate. By the time he had col- 
lected, his pockets were full and his cocksureness had 
increased to such an unbearable crowing that Jeff 
Hairs eyes were venomous as a snake’s. Jeff had 
been running to win, that day, and he had taken odds 
on Skeeter that had seemed to him perfectly safe. 

“ I ’ll run yuh horse for horse ! ” he bellowed and 
spat out an epithet that sent Bud at him white-lipped. 

“ Damn yuh, ride down to the quarter post and I ’ll 
show you some running ! ” Bud yelled back. “ And 
after you ’ve swallowed dust all the way up the track, 
you go with me to where the women can’t see and I ’ll 
lick the living tar outa you ! ” 

Jeff swore and wheeled Skeeter toward the starting 
post, beckoning Bud to follow. And Bud, hastily tuck- 
ing in a flapping bulge of striped shirt, went after him. 
At that moment he was not Bud, but Buddy in one of 


158 Cow-Country 

his fighting moods, with his plans forgotten while he 
avenged an insult. 

Men lined up at the wire to judge for themselves the 
finish, and Dave Truman rode alone to start them. 
No one doubted but that the start would be fair* — 
JeflF and Bud would see to that! 

For the first time in months the rein-ends stung 
Smoky’s flanks when he was in his third jump. Just 
once Bud struck, and was ashamed of the blow as it 
fell. Smoky did not need that urge, but he flattened 
his ears and came down the track a full length ahead 
of Skeeter, and held the pace to the wire and beyond, 
where he stopped in a swirl of sand and went prancing 
back, ready for another race if they asked it of him. 

Guess Dave ’ll have to bring out Boise and take 
the swellin’ outa that singin’ kid’s pocket,” a hard- 
faced man shouted as Jeff slid off Skeeter and went 
over to where his cronies stood bunched and conferring 
earnestly together. 

Not to-day, he need n’t. I ’ve had all the excite- 
ment I want ; and I ’d like to have time to count my 
money before I lose it,” Bud retorted. ‘‘ Next Sun- 
day, if it ’s a clear day and the sign is right, I might 
run against Boise if it ’s worth my while. Say, Jeff, 
seeing you ’re playing hard luck, I won’t lick you for 
what you called me. And just to show my heart ’s 
right, I ’ll lend you Skeeter to ride home. Or if you 
want to buy him back, you can have him for sixty 
dollars or such a matter. He ’s a nice little horse, — 
if you are n’t in a hurry 1 ” 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 


Why Bud Missed a Dance 

“Bud^ you 're fourteen kinds of a damn fool and I 
can prove it," Jerry announced without prelude of any 
kind save, perhaps, the viciousness with which he 
thrust a pitchfork into a cock of hay. The two were 
turning over hay-cocks that had been drenched with 
another unwelcome storm, and they had not been talk- 
ing much. Forking ” soggy hay when the sun is 
blistering hot and great, long-billed mosquitoes are 
boring indefatigably into the back of one's neck is not 
a pastime conducive to polite and animated conver- 
sation. 

“ Fly at it," Bud invited, resting his fork while he 
scratched a smarting shoulder. “ But you can skip 
some of the evidence. I know seven of the kinds, and 
I plead guilty. Any able-bodied man who will delib- 
erately make a barbecue of himself for a gang of 
blood-thirsty insects ought to be hanged. What 's the 
rest?" 

'‘You can call that mild," Jerry stated severely. 
“ Bud, you 're playing to lose the shirt off your back. 
You 've got a hundred dollar forfeit up on next Sun- 
day's running match, so you'll run if you have to 
race Boise afoot. That 's all right if you want the 


i6o Cow-Country 

risk — but did it ever occur to you that if all the coin 
in the neighborhood is collected in one man’s pocket, 
there ’ll be about as many fellows as there are losers, 
that will lay awake till sun-up figuring how to heel him 
and ride off with the roll? I ain’t over-stocked with 
courage, myself. I ’d rather be broke in Burroback 
Valley than owner of wealth. It ’s healthier.” 

He thrust his fork into another settled heap, lifted 
it clear of the ground with one heave of his muscular 
shoulders, and heard within a strident buzzing. He 
held the hay poised until a mottled gray snake writhed 
into view, its ugly jaws open and its fangs showing 
malevolently. 

“ Grab him with your fork, Bud,” Jerry said coolly. 

A rattler — the valley ’s full of ’em, — some of ’em ’s 
human.” 

The snake was dispatched and the two went on to 
the next hay-cock. Bud was turning over more than 
the hay, and presently he spoke more seriously than 
was his habit with Jerry. 

You ’re full enough of warnings, Jerry. What 
do you want me to do about it? ” 

“Drift,” Jerry advised. “There’s moral diseases 
just as catching as smallpox. This part of the coun- 
try has been settled up by men that came here first 
because they wanted to hide out. They ’ve slipped 
into darn crooked ways, and the rest has either fol- 
lowed suit or quit. All through this rough country 
it ’s the same — over in the Black Rim, across 
Thunder Mountains, and beyond that to the Saw- 
tooth, a man that ’s honest is a man that ’s off his 
range. I ’d like to see you pull out — before you ’re 
planted.” 


why Bud Missed a Dance i6i 

Bud looked at Jerry, studied him, feature by fea- 
ture. “ Then what are you doing here ? ” he demanded 
bluntly. Why have n’t you pulled out? ” 

“Me?” Jerry bit his lip. “Bud, I’m going to 
take a chance and tell you the God’s-truth. I dassent. 
I ’m protected here because I keep my mouth shut, 
and because they know I ’ve got to or they can hand 
me over. I had some trouble. I ’m on the dodge, and 
Little Lost is right handy to the Sinks and — Catrock 
Canyon. There ain’t a sheriff in Idaho that would 
have one chance in a thousand of getting me here. 
But you — say ! ” He faced Bud. ^ 'You ain’t on the 
dodge, too, are yuh ? ” 

“ Nope,” Bud grinned. “ Over at the Muleshoe 
they seemed to think I was. I just struck out for my- 
self, and I want to show up at home some day with a 
stake I made myself. It ’s just a little argument with 
my dad that I want to settle. And,” he added 
frankly, “ I seem to have struck the right place to 
make money quickly. The very fact that they’re a 
bunch of crooks makes my conscience clear on the 
point of running my horse. I ’m not cheating them 
out of a cent. If Jeff’s horse is faster than Smoky, 
Jeff is privileged to let him out and win if he can. 
It is n’t my fault if he ’s playing to let me win from 
the whole bunch in the hope that he can hold me up 
afterwards and get the roll. It ’s straight ‘ give and 
take ’ — and so far I ’ve been taking.” 

Jerry worked for a while, moodily silent. “ What 
I ’d like is to see you take the trail ; while the takin ’s 
good,” he said later. “ I ’ve got to keep my mouth 
shut. But I like yuh. Bud. I hate like hell to see you 
walking straight into a trap.” 


I 62 


Cow-Country 

“ Say, I ’m as easily trapped as a mountain lion,” 
Bud told him confidently. 

Whereat Jerry looked at him pityingly. ** You 
going to that dance up at Morgan’s?’’ 

“ Sure 1 I ’m going to take Honey and — I think 
Mrs. Morris if she decides to go. Honey mentioned 
it last night. Why?” 

“ Oh, nothing.” Jerry shouldered his fork and went 
off to where a jug of water was buried in the hay 
beside a certain boulder which marked the spot. He 
drank long, stopped for a short gossip with Charley, 
who strolled over for a drink, and went to work on 
another row. 

Bud watched him, and wondered if Jerry had 
changed rows to avoid further talk with him; and 
-#rvhether Jerry had merely been trying to get informa- 
tion from him, and had either learned what he wanted 
to know, or had given up the attempt. Bud reviewed 
mentally their desultory conversation and decided that 
he had accidentally been very discreet. The only real 
bit of information he had given Jerry was the fact 
that he was not “ on the dodge ” — a criminal in fear 
of the law — and that surely could harm no man. 

That he intended to run against Boise on Sunday 
was common knowledge; also that he had a hundred- 
dollar forfeit up on the race. And that he was going 
to a dance with Honey was of no consequence that he 
could see. 

Bud was beginning to discount the vague warnings 
he had received. Unless something definite came 
within his knowledge he would go about his business 
exactly as if Burroback Valley were a church-going 
community. He would not “ drift.” 


why Bud Missed a Dance 163 

But after all he did not go to the dance with Honey, 
or with anyone. He came to the supper-table freshly 
shaved and dressed for the occasion, ate hungrily and 
straightway became a very sick young man. He did 
not care if there were forty dances in the Valley that 
night. His head was splitting, his stomach was in a 
turmoil. He told Jerry to go ahead with Honey, and 
if he felt better after a while he would follow. Jerry 
at first was inclined to scepticism, and accused Bud of 
crawfishing at the last minute. But within ten min- 
utes Bud had convinced him so completely that Jerry 
insisted upon staying with him. By then Bud was too 
sick to care what was being done, or who did it. So 
Jerry stayed. 

Honey came to the bunk-house in her dance finery, 
was met in the doorway by Jerry and was told that this 
was no place for a lady, and reluctantly consented to 
go without her escort. 

A light shone dimly in the kitchen after the dancers 
had departed, wherefore Jerry guessed that Marian 
had not gone with the others, and that he could per- 
haps get hold of mustard for an emetic or a plaster — 
Jerry was not sure which remedy would be best, and 
the patient, wanting to die, would not be finicky. He 
found Marian measuring something drop by drop into 
half a glass of water. She turned, saw who had en- 
tered, and carefully counted three more drops, corked 
the bottle tightly and slid it into her apron pocket, and 
held out the glass to Jerry. 

‘‘ Give him this,’' she said in a soft undertone. ‘‘ I ’m 
sorry, but I had n’t a chance to say a word to the boy, 
and so I could n’t think of any other way of making 
sure he would not go up to Morgan’s. I put some- 


1 64 Cow-Country 

thing into his coffee to make him sick. You may tell 
him, Jerry, if you like. I should, if I had the chance. 
This will counteract the effects of the other so that he 
will be all right in a couple of hours.’’ 

Jerry took the glass and stood looking at her stead- 
ily. “ That sure was one way to do it,” he observed, 
with a quirk of the lips. “ It ’s none of my business, 
and I ain’t asking any questions, but — ” 

“ Very sensible, I ’m sure,” Marian interrupted him. 

I wish he ’d leave the country. Can’t you — ? ” 
No. I told him to pull out, and he just laughed at 
me. I knowed they was figuring on ganging together 
to-night — ” 

Marian closed her hands together with a gesture of 
impatience. Jerry, I wish I knew just how bad you 
are ! ” she exclaimed. Do you dare stand by him ? 
Because this thing is only beginning. I could n’t bear 
to see him go up there to-night, absolutely unsuspect- 
ing — and so I made him sick. Tell that to anyone, 
and you can make me — ” 

Say, I ain’t a damned skunk!” Jerry muttered. 
“ I ’m bad enough, maybe. At any rate you think so.” 
Then, as usually happened, Jerry decided to hold his 
tongue. He turned and lifted the latch of the screen 
door. "'You sure made a good job of it,” he grinned. 

I ’ll go an’ pour this into Bud ’fore he loses his 
boots ! ” 

He did so, and saved Bud’s boots and half a night’s 
sleep besides. Moreover, when Bud, fully recovered, 
searched his memory of that supper and decided that 
it was the sliced cucumbers that had disagreed with 
him, Jerry gravely assured him that it undoubtedly 
was the combination of cucumber and custard pie, and 


why Bud Missed a Dance 165 

that Bud was lucky to be alive after such reckless 
eating. 

Having missed the dance altogether, Bud looked 
forward with impatience to Sunday. It is quite pos- 
sible that others shared with him that impatience, 
though we are going to adhere for a while to Bud’s 
point of view and do no more than guess at the 
thoughts hidden behind the fair words of certain men 
in the Valley. 

Pop’s state of mind we are privileged to know, for 
Pop was seen making daily pilgrimage to the pasture 
where he could watch Smoky limping desultorily here 
and there with Stopper and Sunfish. On Saturday 
afternoon Bud saw Pop trying to get his hands on 
Smoky, presumably to examine the lame ankle. But 
three legs were all Smoky needed to keep him out of 
Pop’s reach. Pop forgot his rheumatism and ran pretty 
fast for a man his age, and when Bud arrived Pop’s 
vocabulary had limbered up to a more surprising ac- 
tivity than his legs. 

‘‘Want to bet on yourself. Pop?” Bud called out 
when Pop was running back and forth, hopefully try- 
ing to comer Smoky in a rocky draw. “ I ’m willing to 
risk a dollar on you, anyway.” 

Pop whirled upon him and hurled sentences not 
written in the book of Parlor Entertainment. The 
gist of it was that he had been trying all the week to 
have a talk with Bud, and Bud had plainly avoided 
him after promising to act upon Pop’s advice and run 
so as to make some money. 

“ Well, I made some,” Bud defended. “If you 
did n’t, it ’s just because you did n’t bet strong 
enough.” 


i66 Cow-Country 

“ I want to look at that horse's hind foot," Pop 
insisted. 

“No use. He 's too lame to run against Boise. You 
can see that yourself." 

Pop eyed Bud suspiciously, pulling his beard. “ Are 
you fixin' to double-cross me, young feller?" he 
wanted to know. “ I went and made some purty big 
bets on this race. If you think yo ’re goin’ to fool ole 
Pop, you ’ll wish you had n’t. You got enemies al- 
ready in this valley, lemme tell yuh. The Muleshoe 
ain’t any bunch to fool with, and I ’m willing to say 
’t thpy ’re laying fer yuh. They think," he added 
shrewdly, “ ’t yo ’re a spotter, or something. Air 
yuh ? ’’ 

“Of course I am. Pop ! I ’ve spotted a way to make 
money and have fun while I do it." Bud looked at the 
old man, remembered Marian’s declaration that Pop 
was not very reliable, and groped mentally for a way 
to hearten the old man without revealing anything 
better kept to himself, such as the immediate effect 
of a horse hair tied just above a horse’s hoof, also the 
immediate result of removing that hair. Wherefore, 
he could not think of much to say, except that he 
would not attempt to run a lame horse against Boise. 

“ All I can say is, to-morrow morning you keep 
your eyes open, Pop, and your tongue between your 
teeth. And no matter what comes up, you use your 
own judgment." 

To-morrow morning Pop showed that he was taking 
Bud’s advice. When the crowd began to gather — 
much earlier than usual, by the way, and much larger 
than any crowd Bud had seen in the valley — Pop was 
trotting here and there, listening and pulling his whis- 


Why Bud Missed a Dance 167 

kers and eyeing Bud sharply whenever that young man 
appeared in his vicinity. 

Bud led Smoky up at noon — and Smoky was still 
lame. Dave looked at him and at Bud, and grinned. 
‘‘ I guess that forfeit money ’s mine,” he said in his 
laconic way. “No use running that horse. I could 
beat him afoot.” 

This was but the beginning. Others began to ban- 
ter and jeer Bud, Jeff’s crowd taunting him with ma- 
licious glee. The singin’ kid was going to have some 
of the swelling taken out of his head, they chortled. 
He had been crazy enough to put up a forfeit on 
to-day’s race, and now his horse had just three legs 
to run on. 

“ Git out afoot, kid ! ” Jeff Hall yelled. “ If you kin 
run half as fast as you kin talk, you ’ll beat Boise four 
lengths in the first quarter ! ” 

Bud retorted in kind, and led Smoky around the 
corral as if he hoped that the horse would recover 
miraculously just to save his master’s pride. The 
crowd hooted to see how Smoky hobbled along, barely 
touching the toe of his lame foot to the ground. Bud 
led him back to the manger piled with new hay, and 
faced the jeering crowd belligerently. Bud noticed 
several of the Muleshoe men in the crowd, no doubt 
drawn to Little Lost by the talk of Bud’s spectacular 
winnings for two Sundays. Hen was there, and Day 
Masters and Chub. Also there were strangers who 
had ridden a long way, judging by their sweaty horses. 
In the midst of the talk and laughter Dave led out 
Boise freshly curried and brushed and arching his 
neck proudly. 

“ No use, Bud,” he said tolerantly. “ I guess you ’re 


1 68 Cow-Country 

set back that forfeit money — unless you want to go . 
through the motions of running a lame horse.’’ 

No, sir, I ’m not going to hand over any forfeit 
money without making a fight for it ! ” Bud told him, 
anger showing in his voice. ‘‘ I ’m no such piker as 
that. I won’t run Smoky, lame as he is ” — Bud prob- 
ably nudged his own ribs when he said that ! — 
but if you ’ll make it a mile, I ’ll catch up my old 
buckskin packhorse and run the race with him, by 
thunder ! He ’s not the quickest horse in the world, but 
he sure can run a long while ! ” 

They yelled and slapped one another on the back, 
and otherwise comported themselves as though a 
great joke had been told them ; never dreaming, poor 
fools, that a costly joke was being perpetrated. 

“ Go it, kid. You run your packhorse, and I ’ll 
give yuh five to one on him! ” a friend of Jeff Hall’s 
yelled derisively. 

I ’ll just take you up on that, and I ’ll make it one 
hundred dollars,” Bud shouted back. I ’d run a tur- 
tle for a quarter, at those odds ! ” 

The crowd was having hysterics when Bud strad- 
dled a Little Lost horse and, loudly declaring that he 
would bring back Sunfish, led Smoky limping back to 
the pasture. He returned soon, leading the buckskin. 
The crowd surged closer, gave Sunfish a glance and 
whooped again. Bud’s face was red with apparent 
anger, his eyes snapped. He faced them defiantly, 
his hand on Sunfish’s thin, straggling mane. 

** You ’re such good sports, you ’ll surely appreciate 
my feelings when I say that this horse is mine, and 
I ’m going to run him and back him to win ! ” he cried. 

‘‘ I may be a darn fool, but I ’m no piker. I know what 


Why Bud Missed a Dance i6g 

this horse can do when I try to catch him up on a frosty 
morning — and I ’m going to see if he can’t go just 
as fast and just as long when I ’m on him as he can 
when I ’m after him.” 

‘‘ We ’ll go yuh, kid! I ’ll bet yuh five to one,” a 
man shouted. “ You name the amount yourself.” 

'' Fifty,” said Bud, and the man nodded and jotted 
down the amount. 

Bud, you ’re a damn fool. I ’ll bet you a hundred 
and make it ten to one,” drawled Dave, stroking 
Boise’s face affectionately while he looked supercili- 
ously at Sunfish standing half asleep in the clamor, 
with his head sagging at the end of his long, ewe neck. 

But if you ’ll take my advice, go turn that fool horse 
back in the pasture and run the bay if you must run 
something.” 

“ The bay ’s a rope horse. I don’t want to spoil him 
by running him. That little horse saved my life, down 
in the Sinks. No, Sunfish has run times enough from 
me — now he ’s got to run for me, by thunder. I ’ll 
bet on him, too ! ” 

Jeff pushed his way through to Bud. He was smil- 
ing with that crafty look in his eyes which should 
have warned a child that the smile went no deeper than 
his lips. 

** Bud, doggone it, I like yore nerve. Besides, you 
owe me something for the way you trimmed me last 
Sunday. I ’ll just give you fifteen to one, and you 
put up Skeeter at seventy-five, and as much money as 
yo ’re a mind to. A pile of it come out of my pocket, 
so — 

Well, don’t holler your head off, Jeff. How ’s 
two hundred ? ” 


lyo Cow-Country 

Suits me, kid/’ He winked at the others, who 
knew how sure a thing he had to back his wager. 
“It’ll be a lot of money if I should lose — ” He 
turned suddenly to Dave. “ How much was that you 
put up agin the kid, Dave? ” 

“ One hundred dollars, and a ten-to-one shot I win,” 
Dave drawled. “ That ought to satisfy yuh it ain’t a 
frame-up. The kid ’s crazy, that ’s all.” 

“Oh! Am I ?” Bud turned hotly. “Well, I’ve 
bet half of all the money I have in the world. And 
I ’m game for the other half — ” He stopped 
abruptly, cast one look at Sunfish and another at Boise, 
stepping about uneasily, his shiny coat rippling, beau- 
tiful. He turned and combed Sunfish’s scanty mane 
with his gloved fingers. Those nearest saw that his 
lips were trembling a little and mistook his hidden 
emotion for anger. 

“ You got him going,” a man whispered in Jeff’s 
ear. “ The kid ’s crazy mad. He ’ll bet the shirt off 
his back if yuh egg him on a little more.” 

Jeff must have decided to “ egg ” Bud on. By the 
time the crowd had reached the course, and the first, 
more commonplace races were over, the other half of 
his money was in the hands of the stake-holder, 
who happened on this day to be Jerry. And the odds 
varied from four to one up to Jeff Hall’s scornful 
fifteen. 

“ Bet yuh five hundred dollars against your bay 
horse,” Lew offered when Bud confessed that he had 
not another dollar to bet. 

“ All right, it ’s a go with me,” Bud answered reck- 
lessly. “ Get his hundred, Jerry, and put down Stop- 
per. 


Why Bud Missed a Dance lyr 

“ What 's that saddle worth ? another asked mean- 
ingly. 

“ One hundred dollars/’ snapped Bud. “ And if 
you want to go further, there are my chaps and spurs 
and this silver-mounted bridle — and my boots and 
hat — and I ’ll throw in Sunfish for whatever you say 
his hide’s worth. Who wants the outfit?” 

I ’ll take ’em,” said Jeff, and permitted Jerry and 
Dave to appraise the outfit, which Bud piled con- 
temptuously in a heap. 

He mounted Sunfish bareback, with a rope halter. 
Bud was bareheaded and in his sock feet. His eyes 
were terribly blue and bright, and his face was flushed 
as a drunken man’s. He glanced over to the bank 
where the women and children were watching. It 
seemed to him that one woman fluttered her handker- 
chief, and his heart beat unevenly for a minute. 

Then he was riding at a walk down the course to 
the farthest post, and the crowd was laughing at the 
contrast between the two horses. Boise stepped spring- 
ily, tossing his head, his eyes ablaze with ardor for the 
race. Beside him Sunfish walked steadily as if he 
were carrying a pack. He was not a pretty horse to 
look at. His neck was long and thin, his mane and 
tail scanty and uneven, a nondescript sorrel. His 
head looked large, set on the end of that neck, his nose 
was dished in and his eyes had a certain veiled look, 
as if he were hiding a bad disposition under those 
droopy lids. Without a saddle he betrayed his high, 
thin withers, the sway in his back, his high hip bones. 
His front legs were flat, with long, stringy-looking 
muscles under his unkempt buckskin hide. Even the 
women laughed at Sunfish. 


172 


Cow-Country 

Beside them two men rode, — the starter and an- 
other to see that the start was fair. So they receded 
down the flat, yellow course and dwindled to mere 
miniature figures against the sand, so that one could 
not tell one horse from another. 

The crowd bunched, still laughing at how the singin' 
kid was going to feel when he rode again to meet them. 
It would cure him of racing, they said. It would be a 
good lesson; serve him right for coming in there and 
thinking, because he had cleaned up once or twice, 
that he could n’t be beaten. 

** Here they come,” Jeff Hall announced satisfiedly, 
and spat into the sand as a tiny blue puff of smoke 
showed beside one of the dots, and two other dots be- 
gan to grow perceptibly larger within a yellow cloud 
which rolled along the earth. 

Men reined this way and that, or stood on their toes 
if they were afoot, the better to see the two rolling 
dots. In a moment one dot seemed larger than the 
other. One could glimpse the upflinging of knees as 
two horses leaped closer and closer. 

“ Well-1 — he ’s keepin’ Dave in sight — that ’s 
more ’n what I expected he ’d do,” Jeff observed. 

It was Pop who suddenly gave a whoop that cracked 
and shrilled into falsetto. 

“ Shucks a’mighty ! Dave, he ’s a-whippin’ up to 
keep the kid in sight ! ” he quavered. “ Shucks — 
Si'mighty, he ’s a-comin’ ! ” 

He was. Lying forward flattened along Sunfish’s 
hard-muscled shoulders. Bud was gaining and gaining 
— one length, then two lengths as he shot under the 
wire, slowed and rode back to find a silent crowd 
watching him. 


why Bud Missed a Dance 173 

He was clothed safely again in chaps, boots, spurs, 
hat — except that I have named the articles backward ; 
cowpuncher that he was, Bud put on his hat before he 
even reached for his boots — and was collecting his 
wagers relentlessly as Shylock ever took his toll, be- 
fore he paid any attention to the atmosphere around 
him. Then, I ecause someone shouted a question three 
inches from his ear. Bud turned and laughed as he 
faced them. 

'‘Why, sure he’s from running stock! I never 
said he was n’t — because none of you make-believe 
horsemen had sense enough to see the speed in him 
and get curious. You bush-racers never saw a real 
race-horse before, I guess. They are n’t always pretty 
to look at, you know. Sunfish has all the earmarks 
of speed if you know how to look for them. He ’s 
thoroughbred; sired by Trump, out of Kansas Chippy 
— if that means anything to you fellows.” He looked 
them over, eyes meeting eyes until his glance rested on 
Jeff Hall. " I ’ve got his registration papers in my 
grip, if you are n’t convinced. And,” he added by 
way of rubbing it in, “ I guess I ’ve got about all the 
money there is in this valley.” 

“No, you ain’t!” Pop Truman cackled, teetering 
backward and forward while he counted his winnings. 
“ / bet on ye, young feller. Brought me in something, 
too. It did so!” 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
While the Going Good 

At supper Bud noticed that Marian, standing at his 
right side, set down his cup of coffee with her right 
hand, and at the same instant he felt her left hand 
fumble in his pocket and then touch his elbow. She 
went on, and Bud in his haste to get outside drank his 
coffee so hot that it scalded his mouth. Jerry rose up 
and stepped backward over the bench as Bud passed 
him, and went out at his heels. 

‘‘ Go play the piano for half an hour and then meet 
me where you got them mushrooms. And when you 
quit playing, duck quick. Tell Honey you ’ll be back 
in a minute. Have her hunt for music for yuh while 
you ’re out — or something like that. Don’t let on.” 

Bud might have questioned Jerry, but that cautious 
young man was already turning back to call something 
to Dave, so Bud went around the corner, glancing 
into the pantry window as he passed. Marian was not 
in sight, nor was Honey at the moment when he stood 
beside the step of the post-office. 

Boldness carries its own talisman against danger. 
Bud went in — without slamming the door behind him, 
you may be sure — and drew his small notebook from 
his inside pocket With that to consult frequently, he 


while the Going ’s Good 175 

sat down by the window where the failing light was 
strongest, and proceeded to jot down imaginary fig- 
ures on the paper he pulled from his coat pocket and 
unfolded as if it were of no value whatever to him. 
The piano playing ordered by Jerry could wait. 

What Marian had to say on this occasion could not 
be written upon a cigarette paper. In effect her note 
was a preface to Jerry’s commands. Bud saw where 
she had written words and erased them so thoroughly 
that the cheap paper was almost worn through. She 
had been afraid, poor lady, but her fear could not pre- 
vent the writing. 

“ You must leave to-night for Crater and cash the 
checks given you to pay the bets. Go to Crater. If 
you don’t know the way, keep due north after you 
have crossed Gold Gap. There ’s the stage road, but 
they ’ll watch that, I ’m afraid. They mean to stop 
payment on the checks. But first they will kill you if 
they can. They say you cheated with that thorough- 
bred horse. They took their losses so calmly — I 
knew that they meant to rob you. To show you how I 
know, it was Lew you shot on the ridge that night. 
His rheumatism was caused by your bullet that nicked 
his shoulder. So you see what sort we are — go. 
Don’t wait — go now.” 

Bud looked up, and there was Honey leaning over 
the counter, smiling at him. 

‘‘ Well, how much is it? ” she teased when she saw 
he had discovered her. 

Bud drew a line across the note and added imaginary 
columns of figures, his hat-brim hiding his face. 


176 Cow-Country 

“ Over eleven thousand dollars,” he announced, and 
twisted the paper in his fingers while he went over to 
her. “ Almost enough to start housekeeping ! ” 

Honey blushed and leaned to look for something 
which she pretended to have dropped and Bud seized 
the opportunity to tuck the paper out of sight. “ I 
feel pretty much intoxicated to-night. Honey,” he 
said. “ I think I need soothing, or something — and 
you know what music does to the savage breast. Let 's 
play.” 

“ All right. You Ve been staying away lately till 
I thought you were mad,” Honey assented rather 
eagerly, and opened the little gate in the half partition 
just as Bud was vaulting the counter, which gave her 
a great laugh and a chance for playful scuffling. Bud 
kissed her and immediately regretted the caress. 

Jerry had told him to play the piano, but Bud took 
his mandolin and played that while Honey thumped 
out chords for him. As he had half expected, most of 
the men strayed in and perched here and there listen- 
ing just as if there had not been a most unusual horse- 
race to discuss before they slept. Indeed, Bud had 
never seen the Little Lost boys so thoughtful, and this 
silence struck him all at once as something sinister, 
like a beast of prey stalking its kill. 

Two waltzes he played — and then, in the middle of 
a favorite two-step, a mandolin string snapped with a 
sharp twang, and Bud came as close to swearing as a 
well-behaved young man may come in the presence of a 
lady. 

Now I ’ll have to go get a new E string,” he com- 
plained. “You play the Danube for the boys — the 
way I taught you — while I get this fixed. I ’ve an 


while the Going ’s Good 177 

extra string down in the bunk-house; it won’t take 
five minutes to get it.” He laid the mandolin down 
on his chair, bolted out through the screen door which 
he slammed after him to let Jerry know that he was 
coming, and walked halfway to the bunk-house be- 
fore he veered off around the corner of the machine 
shed and ran. 

Jerr}^ was waiting by the old shed, and without a 
word he led Bud behind it where Sunfish was standing 
saddled and bridled. 

You got to go. Bud, while the going ’s good. “ I ’d 
go with yuh if I dared,” Jerry mumbled guardedly. 
‘‘ You hit for Crater, Bud, and put that money in the 
bank. You can cut into the stage road where it crosses 
Oldman Creek, if you go straight up the race track to 
the far end, and follow the trail from there. You 
can’t miss it — there ain’t but one way to go. I got 
yuh this horse because he ’s worth more ’n what the 
other two are, and he ’s faster. And Bud, if anybody 
rides up on yuh, shoot. Don’t monkey around about it. 
And you ride! ” 

All right,” Bud muttered. “ But I ’ll have to go 
down in the pasture and get my money, first. I ’ve 
got my own private bank down there, and I have n’t 
enough in my pockets to play penny ante more than 
one round.” 

Hell ! ” Jerry’s hand lifted to Bud’s shoulder and 
gripped it for a minute. “ That ’s right on the road 
to the Sinks, man ! ” He stood biting his lips, think- 
ing deeply, turning his head now and then as little 
sounds came from the house: the waltz Honey was 
playing, the post-office door slamming shut. 

‘‘ You tell me where that money ’s cached. Bud, 


178 Cow-Country 

and I '11 go after it. I guess you '11 have to trust me 
— I sure would n’t let yuh go down to the pasture 
yourself right now. Where is it?” 

“ Look under that flat rock right by the gate post, 
where the top bars hit the ground. It 's wrapped up 
in a handkerchief, so just bring the package. It 's been 
easy to tuck things under the rock when I was putting 
up the bars. I '11 wait here.” 

“ Good enough — I 'd sure have felt easier if I 'd 
known you was n’t carrying all that money.” Where- 
upon Jerry disappeared, and his going made no sound. 

Bud stood beside Sunfish, wondering if he had been 
a fool to trust Jerry. By his own admission Jerry 
was living without the law, and this might easily be a 
smooth scheme of robbery. He turned and strained 
his eyes into the dusk, listening, trying to hear some 
sound that would show which way Jerry had gone. 
He was on the point of following him — suspicion 
getting the better of his faith — when Sunfish moved 
his head abruptly to one side, bumping Bud’s head 
with his cheek. At the same instant a hand touched 
Bud’s arm. 

I saw you from the kitchen window,” Marian 
whispered tensely. I was afraid you had n’t read 
my note, or perhaps would n’t pay any attention to it. 
I heard you and Jerry — of course he won’t dare go 
with you and show you the short-cut, even if he knows 
it. There 's a quicker way than up the creek-bed. I 
have Boise out in the bushes, and a saddle. I was 
afraid to wait at the barn long enough to saddle him. 
You go — he’s behind that great pile of rocks, back 
of the corrals. I ’ll wait for Jerry.” She gave him a 
push, and Bud was so astonished that he made no 


while the Going’s Good 179 

reply whatever, but did exactly as she had told him 
to do. 

Boise was standing behind the peaked outcropping 
of rock, and beside him was a stock-saddle which must 
have taxed Marian’s strength to carry. Indeed, Bud 
thought she must have had wings, to do so much in 
so short a space of time; though when he came to 
estimate that time he decided that he must have been 
away from the house ten minutes, at least. If Marian 
followed him closely enough to see him duck behind 
the machine shed and meet Jerry, she could run behind 
the corral and get Boise out by way of the back door 
of the stable. There was a path, screened from the 
corral by a fringe of brush, which went that way. The 
truth flashed upon him that one could ride unseen all 
around Little Lost. 

He was just dropping the stirrup down from the 
saddle horn when Marian appeared with Jerry and 
Sunfish close behind her. Jerry held out the package. 

She says she ’ll show you a short cut,” he whis- 
pered. “ She says I don’t know anything about it. I 
guess she ’s right — there ’s a lot I don’t know. Lew ’s 
gone, and she says she ’ll be back before daylight. If 
they miss Boise they ’ll think you stole him. But they 
won’t look. Dave would n’t slam around in the night 
on Boise — he thinks too much of him. Well — beat 
it, and I sure wish yuh luck. You be careful, Marian. 
Come back this way, and if you see a man’s handker- 
chief hanging on this bush right here where I ’m stand- 
ing, it ’ll mean you ’ve been missed.” 

‘‘ Thank you, Jerry,” Marian whispered. I ’ll 
look for it. Come, Bud — keep close behind me, and 
don’t make any noise.” 


i8o Cow-Country 

Bud would have protested, but Marian did not give 
him a chance. She took up the reins, grasped the 
saddle horn, stuck her slipper toe in the stirrup and 
mounted Boise as quickly as Bud could have done it — 
as easily, too, making allowance for the difference in 
their height. Bud mounted Sunfish and followed her 
on the trail which led to the race track ; but when they 
had gone through the brush and could see starlight 
beyond, she turned sharply to the left, let Boise pick 
his way carefully over a rocky stretch and plunged 
into the brush again, leaning low in the saddle so that 
the higher branches would not claw at her hair and 
face. 

When they had once more come into open ground, 
with a shoulder of Catrock Peak before them, Marian 
pulled up long enough to untie her apron and bind it 
over her hair like a peasant woman. She glanced back 
at Bud, and although darkness hid the expression on 
her face, he saw her eyes shining in the starlight. She 
raised her hand and beckoned, and Bud reined Sun- 
fish close alongside. 

“We ’re going into a spooky place now,” she leaned 
toward him to whisper. “ Boise knows the way, and 
your horse will follow.” 

“ All right,” Bud whispered back. “ But you ’d 
better tell me the way and let me go on alone. I ’m 
pretty good at scouting out new trails. I don’t want 
you to get in trouble — ” 

She would not listen to more of that, but pushed him 
back with the flat of her bare hand and rode ahead 
of him again. Straight at the sheer bluff, that lifted 
its huge, rocky shape before them, she led the way. 
So far as Bud could see she was not following any trail, 


While the Going ’s Good 1 8 1 

but was aiming at a certain point and was sure enough 
of the ground to avoid detours. 

They came out upon the bank of the dry river-bed. 
Bud knew it by the flatness of the foreground and the 
general contour of the mountains beyond. But im- 
mediately they turned at a sharp angle, travelled for a 
few minutes with the river-bed at their backs, and 
entered a narrow slit in the mountains where two 
peaks had been rent asunder in some titanic upheaval 
when the world was young. The horses scrambled 
along the rocky bottom for a little way, then Boise 
disappeared. 

Sunfish halted, threw his head this way and that, 
gave a suspicious sniff and turned carefully around the 
comer of a square-faced boulder. In front was black- 
ness. Bud urged him a little with rein and soft pres- 
sure of the spurs, and Sunfish stepped forward. He 
seemed reassured to find firm, smooth sand under his 
feet, and hurried a little until Boise was just ahead 
clicking his feet now and then against a rock. 

“ Coming ? ” Marian’s voice sounded subdued, 
muffled by the close walls of the tunnel-like crevice. 

“ Coming,” Bud assured her quietly At your 
heels.” 

‘‘ I always used to feel spooky when I was riding 
through here,” Marian said, dropping back so that 
they rode side by side, stirrups touching. I was ten 
when I first made the trip. It was to get away from 
Indians. They would n’t come into these places. Eddie 
and I found the way through. We were afraid they 
were after us, and so we kept going, and our horses 
brought us out. Eddie — is my brother.” 

“ You grew up here ? ” Bud did not know how 


i 82 


Cow-Country 

much incredulity was in his voice. I was raised 
amongst the Indians in Wyoming. I thought you 
were from the East.’’ 

“ I was in Chicago for three years,” Marian ex- 
plained. “ I studied every waking minute, I think. I 
wanted to be a singer. Then — I came home to help 
bury mother. Father — Lew and father were part- 
ners, and I — married Lew. I did n’t know — it 
seemed as though I must. Father put it that way. 
The old story. Bud. I used to laugh at it in novels, 
but it does happen. Lew had a hold over father and 
Eddie, and he wanted me. I married him, but it did 
no good, for father was killed just a little more than a 
month afterwards. We had a ranch, up here in the 
Red water Valley, about halfway to Crater. But it 
went — Lew gambled and drank and — so he took 
me to Little Lost. I ’ve been there for two years.” 

The words of pity — and more — that crowded for- 
ward for utterance. Bud knew he must not speak. 
So he said nothing at all. 

‘‘ Lew has always held Eddie over my head,” she 
went on pouring out her troubles to him. “ There ’s 
a gang, called the Catrock Gang, and Lew is one of 
them. I told you Lew is the man you shot. I think 
Dave Truman is in with them — at any rate he shuts 
his eyes to whatever goes on, and gets part of the steal- 
ings, I feel sure. That ’s why Lew is such a favorite. 
You see, Eddie is one — I’m trusting you with my 
life, almost, when I tell you this. 

“ But I could n’t stand by and not lift a hand to save 
you. I knew they would kill you. They ’d have to, 
because I felt that you would fight and never give up. 
And you are too fine a man for those beasts to murder 


while the Going’s Good 183 

for the money you have. I knew, the minute I saw 
Jeflf paying you his losings with a check, and some of 
the others doing the same, just what would happen. 
Jeff is almost as bad as the Catrockers, except that he 
is too cowardly to come out into the open. He gave 
you a check; and everyone who was there knew he 
would hurry up to Crater and stop payment on it, if he 
could do it and keep out of your sight. Those cronies 
of his would do the same — so they paid with checks. 

‘‘ And the Catrock gang knew that. They mean to 
get hold of you, rob and — and — kill you, and forge 
the endorsement on the checks and let one man cash 
them in Crater before payment can be stopped. In- 
deed, the gang will see to it that Jeff stays away from 
Crater. Lew hinted that while they were about it 
they might as well clean out the bank. It would n’t be 
the first time,” she added bitterly. 

She stopped then and asked for a match, and when 
Bud gave her one she lighted a candle and held it up 
so that she could examine the walls. It ’s a natural 
tunnel,” she volunteered in a different tone. ‘‘ Some- 
where along here there is a branch that goes back into 
the hill and ends in a blow-hole. But we ’re all right 
so far.” 

She blew out the candle and urged Boise forward, 
edging over to the right. 

'' Was n’t that taking quite a chance, making a 
light ? ” Bud asked as they went on. 

‘‘ It was, but not so great a chance as missing the 
way. Jerry did n’t hear anything of them when he 
went to the pasture gate, and they may not come 
through this way at all. They may not realize at first 
that you have left, and even when they did they would 


184 Cow-Country 

not believe at first that you had gone to Crater. You 
see ” — and in the darkness Bud could picture her 
troubled smile — “ they think you are an awful fool, 
in some ways. The way you bet to-day was pure 
madness.” 

It would have been, except that I knew I could 
win.” 

They never bet like that. They always ‘ figure \ 
as they call it, that the other fellow is going to play 
some trick on them. Half the time Jeff bets against 
his own horse, on the sly. They all do, unless they 
feel sure that their own trick is best.” 

“ They should have done that to-day,” Bud ob- 
served dryly. ** But you Ve explained it. They 
thought I ’m an awful fool.” 

Out of the darkness came Marianas voice. ‘‘ It ’s 
because you ’re so different. They can’t understand 
you.” 

Bud was not interested in his own foolishness just 
then. Something in her voice had thrilled him anew 
with a desire to help her and with the conviction that 
she was desperately in need of help. There was a 
pathetic patience in her tone when she summarized 
the whole affair in those last two sentences. It was 
as if she were telling him how her whole life was 
darkened because she herself was different — because 
they could not understand a woman so fine, so true 
and sweet. 

‘‘ What will happen if you are missed? If you go 
back and discover Jerry’s handkerchief on that bush, 
what will you do? You can’t go back if they find 
out — ” There was no need for him to finish that 
sentence. 


while the Going’s Good 185 

“ I don’t know,” said Marian, ‘‘ what I shall do. I 
had n’t thought much about it.” 

I have n’t thought much about anything else,’* 
Eud told her straightforwardly. ‘'If Jerry flags you, 
you ’d better keep going. Could n’t you go to 
friends ? ” 

“ I could — if I had any. Bud, you don’t under- 
stand. Eddie is the only relative I have on earth, that 
I know at all. He is — he ’s with the Catrockers 
and Lew dominates him completely. Lew has pushed 
Ed into doing things so that I must shield both or 
neither. And Eddie ’s just a boy. So I ’ve no one 
at all.” 

Bud studied this while they rode on through the 
defile that was more frequently a tunnel, since the 
succession of caves always had an outlet which Marian 
found. She had stopped now and dismounted, and 
they were leading their horses down a steep, scram- 
bling place with the stars showing overhead. 

“ A blowhole,” Marian informed him briefly. 
‘‘ We ’ll come into another cave, soon, and while it ’s 
safe if you know it, I ’ll explain now that you must 
walk ahead of your horse and keep your right hand 
always in touch with the wall until we see the stars 
again. There ’s a ledge — five feet wide in the nar- 
rowest place, if you are nervous about ledges — and 
if you should get off that you ’d have a drop of ten 
feet or so. We found that the ledge makes easier 
travelling, because the bottom is full of rocks and 
nasty depressions that are noticeable only with lights.” 

She started off again, and Bud followed her, his 
gloved fingers touching the right wall, his soul hum- 
bled before the greatness of this little woman with the 


i86 


Cow- Country 

deep, troubled eyes. When they came out into the 
starlight she stopped and listened for what seemed to 
Bud a very long time. 

'‘If they are coming, they are a long way behind 
us,” she said relievedly, and remounted. " Boise knows 
this trail and has made good time. And your horse 
has proven beyond all doubt that he ’s a thoroughbred. 
I ’ve seen horses balk at going where we have gone.” 

" And I Ve seen men who counted themselves brave 
as any, who would n’t do what you are doing to-night ; 
Jerry, for instance. I wish you ’d go back. I can’t 
bear having you take this risk.” 

" I can’t go back. Bud. Not if they find I ’ve gone.” 
Then he heard her laugh quietly. " I can’t imagine 
now why I stayed and endured it all this while. I 
think I only needed the psychological moment for re- 
bellion, and to-night the moment came. So you see 
you have really done me a service by getting into this 
scrape. It ’s the first time I have been off the ranch 
in a year.” 

"If you call that doing you a service, I ’m going to 
ask you to let me do something also for you.” Bud 
half smiled to himself in the darkness, thinking how 
diplomatic he was. "If you ’re found out, you ’ll 
have to keep on going, and I take it you would n’t be 
particular where you went. So I wish you ’d take 
charge of part of this money for me, and if you leave, 
go down to my mother, on the Tomahawk ranch, out 
from Laramie. Anyone can tell you where it is, when 
you get down that way. If you need any money, use 
it. And tell mother I sent her the finest cook in the 
country. Mother, by the way, is a great musician, 
Marian. She taught me all I know of music. You ’d 


while the Going’s Good 187 

get along just fine with mother. And she needs you, 
honest. She is n’t very strong, yet she can’t find any- 
one to suit, down there — ” 

“ I might not suit, either,” said Marian, her voice 
somewhat muffled. 

“Oh, I’m not afraid of that. And — there’s a 
message I want to send — I promised mother I ’d — ” 
“ Oh, hush ! You ’re really an awfully poor pre- 
varicator, Bud. This is to help me, you ’re planning.” 

“Well — it’s to help me that I want you to take 
part of the money. The gang won’t hold you up, will 
they ? And I want mother to have it. I want her to 
have you, too, — to help out when company comes 
drifting in there, sometimes fifteen or twenty strong. 
Especially on Sunday. Mother has to wait on them 
and cook for them, and — as long as you are going to 
cook for a bunch, you may as well do it where it will 
be appreciated, and where you ’ll be treated like a — 
like a lady ought to be treated.” 

“ You ’re even worse — ” began Marian, laughing 
softly, and stopped abruptly, listening, her head turned 
behind them. “ Sh-sh — someone is coming behind 
us,” she whispered. “We ’re almost through — come 
on, and don’t talk ! ” 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 


Guardian Angels Are Riding Point 

They plunged into darkness again, rode at a half 
trot over smooth, hard sand. Bud trusting himself 
wholly to Marian and to the sagacity of the two horses 
who could see, he hoped, much better than he himself 
could. His keen hearing had caught a faint sound 
from behind them — far back in the crevice-like gorge 
they had just quitted, he believed. For Marian’s sake 
he stared anxiously ahead, eager for the first faint 
suggestion of starlight before them. It came, and he 
breathed freer and felt of his gun in its holster, pull- 
ing it forward an inch or two. 

This way. Bud,” Marian murmured, and swung 
Boise to the left, against the mountain under and 
through which they seemed to have passed. She led 
him into another small gorge whose extent he could 
not see, and stopped him with a hand pressed against 
Sunfish’s shoulder. 

“ We ’d better get down and hold our horses quiet,” 
she cautioned. “ Boise may try to whinny, and he 
must n’t.” 

They stood side by side at their horses’ heads, hold- 
ing the animals close. For a time there were no sounds 
at all save the breathing of the horses and once a re- 


Angels Are Riding “Point” 189 

pressed sigh from Marian. Bud remembered sud- 
denly how tired she must be. At six o’clock that morn- 
ing she had fed twelve men a substantial breakfast. 
At noon there had been dinner for several more than 
twelve, and supper again at six — and here she was, 
risking her life when she should be in bed. He felt 
for her free hand, found it hanging listlessly by her 
side and took it in his own and held it there, just’as one 
holds the hand of a timid child. Yet Marian was not 
timid. 

A subdued mutter of voices, the click of hoofs strik- 
ing against stone, and the pursuers passed within 
thirty feet of them. Boise had lifted his head to 
nicker a salute, but Marian’s jerk on the reins stopped 
him. They stood very still, not daring so much as a 
whisper until the sounds had receded and silence came 
again. 

They took the side-hill trail,” whispered Marian, 
pushing Boise backward to turn him in the narrow 
defile. ** You ’ll have to get down the hill into the 
creek-bed and follow that until you come to the stage 
road. There may be others coming that way, but they 
will be two or three miles behind you. This tunnel 
trail cuts off at least five miles but we had to go 
slower, you see. 

“ Right here you can lead Sunfish down the bluff 
to the creek. It ’s all dry, and around the first bend 
you will see where the road crosses. Turn to the left 
on that and ride! This horse of yours will have to 
show the stuff that ’s in him. Get to Crater ahead of 
these men that took the hill trail. They ’ll not ride 
fast — they never dreamed you had come through here, 
but they came to cut off the distance and to head you 


igo 


Cow-Country 

off. With others behind, you must beat them all in 
or you ’ll be trapped between.” 

She had left Boise tied hastily to a bush and was 
walking ahead of Bud down the steep, rocky hillside 
to show him the easiest way amongst the boulders. 
Halfway down. Bud caught her shoulder and stopped 
her. 

“ I ’m not a kid,” he said firmly. I can make it 
from here alone. Not another step, young lady. If 
you can get back home you ’ll be doing enough. Take 
this — it ’s money, but I don’t know how much. And 
watch your chance and go down to mother with that 
message. Birnie, of the Tomahawk outfit — you ’ll 
find out in Laramie where to go. And tell mother 
I ’m all right, and she ’ll see me some day — when 
I ’ve made my stake. God bless you, little woman. 
You ’re the truest, sweetest little woman in the world. 
There ’s just one more like you — that ’s mother. 
Now go back — and for God’s sake be careful ! ” 

He pressed money into her two hands, held them 
tightly together, kissed them both hurriedly and 
plunged down the hill with Sunfish slipping and sliding 
after him. For her safety, if not for his own, he 
meant to get away from there as quickly as possible. 

In the creek bed he mounted and rode away at a 
sharp gallop, glad that Sunfish, thoroughbred though 
he was, had not been raised tenderly in stall and corral, 
but had run free with the range horses and had learned 
to keep his feet under him in rough country or smooth. 
When he reached the crossing of the stage road he 
turned to the left as Marian had commanded and put 
Sunfish to a pace that slid the miles behind him. 

With his thoughts clinging to Marian, to the harsh- 


Angels Are Riding “Point” 19 1 

ness which life had shown her who was all goodness 
and sweetness and courage, Bud forgot to keep careful 
watch behind him, or to look for the place where the 
hill trail joined the road, as it probably did some 
distance from Crater. It would be a blind trail, of 
course — since only the Catrock gang and Marian 
knew of it. 

They came into the road not far behind him, out of 
rock-strewn, brushy wilderness that sloped up steeply 
to the rugged sides of Gold Gap mountains. Sunfish 
discovered them first, and gave Bud warning just be- 
fore they identified him and began to shoot. 

Bud laid himself along the shoulder of his horse 
with a handful of mane to steady him while he watched 
his chance and fired back at them. There were four, 
just the number he had guessed from the sounds as 
they came out of the tunnel. A horse ran staggering 
toward him with the others, faltered and fell. Bud 
v/as sorry for that. It had been no part of his plan to 
shoot down the horses. 

The three came on, leaving the fourth to his own 
devices — and that, too, was quite in keeping with 
the type of human vultures they were. They kept 
firing at Bud, and once he felt Sunfish wince and leap 
forward as if a spur had raked him. Bud shot again, 
and thought he saw one horseman lurch backward. 
But he could not be sure — they were going at a 
terrific pace now, and Sunfish was leaving them far- 
ther and farther behind. They were outclassed, hope- 
lessly out of pistol range, and they must have known 
it, for although they held to the chase they fired no 
more shots. 

Then a dog barked, and 'Bud knew that he was 


192 Cow-Country 

passing a ranch. He could smell the fresh hay in the 
stacks, and a moment later he descried the black hulk 
of ranch buildings. Sunfish was running easily, his 
breath unlabored. Bud stood in the stirrups and 
looked back. They were still coming, for he could 
hear the pound of hoofs. 

The ranch was behind him. Clear starlight was all 
around, and the bulk of near mountains. The road 
seemed sandy, yielding beneath the pound of Sunfish’s 
hoofs. Bud leaned forward again in the saddle, and 
planned what he would do when he reached Crater; 
found time, also, to hope that Marian had gone back, 
and had not heard the shooting. 

Another dog barked, this time on the right. Bud 
saw that they were passing a picket fence. The bark- 
ing of this dog started another farther ahead and to 
the left. Houses so close together could only mean 
that he was approaching Crater. Bud began to pull 
Sunfish down to a more conventional pace. He did 
not particularly want to see heads thrust from win- 
dows, and questions shouted to him. The Catrock 
gang might have friends up this way. It would be 
strange. Bud thought, if they had n’t. 

He loped along the road grown broader now and 
smoother. Many houses he passed, and the mouths of 
obscure lanes. Dogs ran out at him. Bud slowed to 
a walk and turned in the saddle, listening. Away back, 
where he had first met the signs of civilization, the 
dog he had aroused was barking again, his deep bay- 
ing blurred by the distance. Bud grinned to himself 
and rode on at a walk, speaking now and then to an 
inquiring .dog and calling him Purp in a tone that 
soothed. 


Angels Are Riding “Point” 193 

Crater, he discovered in a cursory patrol of the 
place, was no more than an overgrown village. The 
court-house and jail stood on the main street, and just 
beyond was the bank. Bud rode here and there, ex- 
amining closely the fronts of various buildings before 
he concluded that there was only the one bank in 
Crater. When he was quite sure of that he chose a 
place near by the rear of the bank, where one horse 
and a cow occupied a comfortable corral together, 
with hay. He unsaddled Sunfish and turned him in 
there, himself returning to the bank before those other 
night-riders had more than reached the first strag- 
gling suburbs of the town. 

On the porch of the court-house, behind a jutting 
corner pillar that seemed especially designed for the 
concealment of a man in Bud’s situation, he rolled a 
cigarette which he meant to smoke later on when the 
way was clear, and waited for the horsemen to appear. 

Presently they came, rode to a point opposite the 
court-house and bank with no more than a careless 
glance that way, and halted in front of an uninviting 
hotel across the street. Two remained on their horses 
while the third pounded on the door and shook it by 
the knob and finally raised the landlord from his sleep. 
There was a conference which Bud witnessed with 
much interest. A lamp had been lighted in the bare 
office, and against the yellow glow Bud distinctly saw 
the landlord nod his head twice — which plainly be- 
tokened some sort of understanding. 

He was glad that he had not stopped at the hotel. 
He felt much more comfortable on the court-house 
porch. “ Mother’s guardian angels must be riding 
" point ’ to-night,” he mused. 


194 Cow-Country 

The horsemen rode back to a livery stable which 
Bud had observed but had not entered. There they 
also sought for news of him, it would appear. You 
will recall, however, that Bud had ridden slowly into 
the business district of Crater, and his passing had 
been unmarked except by the barking of dogs that 
spent their nights in yammering at every sound and 
so were never taken seriously. The three horsemen 
were plainly nonplussed and conferred together in low 
tones before they rode on. It was evident that they 
meant to find Bud if they could. What they meant to 
do with him Bud did not attempt to conjecture. He 
did not intend to be found. 

After a while the horsemen rode back to the hotel, 
got the landlord out with less difficulty than before 
and had another talk with him. 

“ He stole a horse from Dave Truman,” Bud heard 
one of the three say distinctly. That there running 
horse Dave had.” 

The landlord tucked in his shirt and exclaimed at 
the news, and Bud heard him mention the sheriff. 
But nothing came of that evidently. They talked fur- 
ther and reined their horses to ride back whence they 
came. 

“ He likely ’s give us the slip outside of town, some 
place,” one man concluded. ‘‘We ’ll ride back and 
see. If he shows up, he ’ll likely want to eat. . . . 
And send Dick out to the Stivers place. We ’ll come 
a-running.” He had lowered his voice so that Bud 
could not hear what was to happen before the land- 
lord sent Dick, but he decided he would not pry into 
the matter and try to fill that gap in the conversation. 

He sat where he was until the three had ridden back 


Angels Are Riding “Point” 195 

down the sandy road which served as a street. Then 
he slipped behind the court-house and smoked his 
^ cigarette, and went and borrowed hay from the cow 
and the horse in the corral and made himself some 
sort of bed with his saddle blanket to help out, and 
slept until morning. 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 


The Catrock Gang 

A WOMAN with a checkered apron and a motherly 
look came to let her chickens out and milk the cow, and 
woke Bud so that she could tell him she believed he 
had been on a ‘‘ toot ”, or he never would have taken 
such a liberty with her corral. Bud agreed to the toot, 
and apologized, and asked for breakfast. And the 
woman, after one good look at him, handed him the 
milk bucket and asked him how he liked his eggs, 

“ All the way from barn to breakfast,” Bud grinned, 
and the woman chuckled and called him Smarty, and 
told him to come in as soon as the cow was milked. 

Bud had a great breakfast with the widow Hanson. 
She talked, and Bud learned a good deal about Crater 
and its surroundings, and when he spoke of holdup 
gangs she seemed to know immediately what he meant, 
and told him a great deal more about the Catrockers 
than Marian had done. Everything from murdering 
and robbing a peddler to looting the banks at Crater 
and Lava was laid to the Catrockers. They were the 
human buzzards that watched over the country and 
swooped down wherever there was money. The 
sheriff could n’t do anything with them, and no one 
expected him to, so far as Bud could discover. 


The Catrock Gang 197 

He hesitated a long time before he asked about 
Marian Morris. Mrs. Hanson wept while she related 
Marian’s history, which in substance was exactly what 
Marian herself had told Bud. Mrs. Hanson, how- 
ever, told how Marian had fought to save her father 
and Ed, and how she had married Lew Morris as a 
part of her campaign for honesty and goodness. Now 
she was down at Little Lost cooking for a gang of 
men, said Mrs. Hanson, when she ought to be out in 
the world singing for thousands and her in silks and 
diamonds instead of gingham dresses and not enough 
of them. 

“ Marian Collier is the sweetest thing that ever 
grew up in this country,” the old lady sniffled. “ She ’s 
one in a thousand and when she was off to school 
she showed that she was n’t no common trash. She 
wanted to be an opery singer, but then her mother 
died and Marian done what looked to be her duty. A 
bird in a trap is what I call her.” 

Bud regretted having opened the subject, and 
praised the cooking by way of turning his hostess’s 
thoughts into a different channel. He asked her if 
she would accept him as a boarder while he was in 
town, and was promptly accepted. 

He did not want to appear in public until the bank 
was opened, and he was a bit troubled over identifica- 
tion. There could be no harm, he reflected, in con- 
fiding to Mrs. Hanson as much as was necessary of 
his adventures. Wherefore he dried the dishes for 
her and told her his errand in town, and why it was 
that he and his horse had slept in her corral instead of 
patronizing hotel and livery stable. He showed 
her the checks he wanted to cash, and asked her, with 


1 98 Cow-Country 

a flattering eagerness for her advice, what he should 
do. He had been warned, he said, that Jeff and his 
friends might try to beat him yet by stopping payment, 
and he knew that he had been followed by them to 
town. 

What you ’ll do will be what I tell ye,” Mrs. 
Hanson replied with decision. “ The cashier is a 
friend to me — I was with his wife last month with her 
first baby, and they swear by me now, for I gave her 
good care. We ’ll go over there this minute, and have 
a talk with him. He ’ll do what he can for ye, and 
he ’ll do it for my sake.” 

You don’t know me, remember,” Bud reminded 
her honestly. 

The widow Hanson gave him a scornful smile and 
a toss of her head. And do I not? ” she demanded. 
** Do you think I ’ve buried three husbands and think- 
ing now of the fourth, without knowing what ’s wrote 
in a man’s face? Three I buried, and only one died 
in his bed. I can tell if a man ’s honest or not, with- 
out giving him the second look. If you ’ve got them 
checks you should get the money on them — for I 
know their stripe. Come on with me to Jimmy Law- 
ton’s house. He ’s likely holding the baby while Min- 
nie does the dishes.” 

Mrs. Hanson guessed shrewdly. The cashier of the 
Crater County Bank was doing exactly what she said 
he would be doing. He was sitting in the kitchen, rock- 
ing a pink baby wrapped in white outing flannel with 
blue border, when Mrs. Hanson, without the formality 
of more than one warning tap on the screen door, 
walked in with Bud. She held out her hands for the 
baby while she introduced the cashier to Bud. In 


The Catrock Gang 199 

the next breath she was explaining what was wanted 
of the bank. 

“They’ve done it before, and ye know it ’s plain 
thievery and ought to be complained about. So now 
get your wits to work, Jimmy, for this friend of mine 
is entitled to his money and should have it if it ’s there 
to be had.” 

“ Oh, it ’s there,” said Jimmy. He looked at his 
watch, looked at the kitchen clock, looked at Bud and 
winked. “We open at nine, in this town,” he said. 
“ It lacks half an hour — but let me see those checks'” 
Very relievedly Bud produced them, watched the 
cashier scan each one to make sure that they were 
right, and quaked when Jimmy scowled at Jeff Hall’s 
signature on the largest check of all. “ He had a 
notion to use the wrong signature, but he may have 
lost his nerve. It ’s all right, Mr. Birnie. Just endorse 
these, and I ’ll take them into the bank and attend to 
them the first thing I do after the door is open. You ’d 
better come in when I open up — ” 

“ The gang had some talk about cleaning out the 
bank while they ’re about it,” Bud remembered sud- 
denly. “ Can’t you appoint me something, or hire me 
as a guard and let me help out? How many men do 
you have here in this bank? ” 

“ Two, except when the president ’s in his office in 
the rear. That ’s fine of you to offer. We ’ve been 
held up, once — and they cleaned us out of cash.” 
Jimmy turned to Mrs. Hanson. “ Mother, can’t you 
run over and have Jess come and swear Mr. Birnie in 
as a deputy? If I go, or he goes, someone may notice 
it and tip the gang off.” 

Mrs. Hanson hastily deposited the baby in its cradle 


200 Cow-Country 

and went to call “ Jess ”, her face pink with excite- 
ment. 

“ You ’re lucky you stopped at her house instead 
of some other place,” Jimmy observed. “ She ’s a 
corking good woman. As a deputy sheriff, you ’ll 
come in mighty handy if they do try anything, Mr. 
Birnie — if you ’re the kind of a man you look to be. 
I’ll bet you can shoot. Can you?” 

“If you scare me badly enough, I might get a 
cramp in my trigger finger,” Bud confessed. Jimmy 
grinned and went back to considering his own part. 

“ I ’ll cash these checks for you the first thing I do. 
And as deputy you can go with me. I ’ll have to un- 
lock the door on time, and if they mean to stop pay- 
ment, and clean the bank too, it will probably be done 
all at once. It has been a year since they bothered us, 
so they may need a little change. If Jess is n’t busy he 
may stick around.” 

“No one expects him to round up the gang, I 
heard.” 

“No one expects him to go into Catrock Canyon 
after them. He ’ll round them up, quick enough, if he 
can catch them far enough from their holes.” 

Jess returned with Mrs. Hanson, swore in a new 
deputy, eyed Bud curiously, and agreed to remain hid- 
den across the road from the bank with a rifle. He 
nodded understanding^ when Bud warned him that 
the looting was a matter of hearsay on his part, and 
departed with an awkward compliment to Mrs. Jim 
about hoping that the baby was going to look like her. 

Jim lived just behind the bank, and a high board 
fence between the two buildings served to hide his 
coming and going. But Bud took off his hat and 


201 


The Catrock Gang 

walked stooping, — by special request of Mrs. Han- 
son — to make sure that he was not observed. 

“ I think I ’ll stand out in front of the window,” 
said Bud when they were inside. “ It will look more 
natural, and if any of these fellows show up I ’d just 
as soon not show my brand the first thing.” 

They showed up, all right, within two minutes of 
the unlocking of the bank and the rolling up of the 
shades. Jeff Hall was the first man to walk in, and 
he stopped short when he saw Bud lounging before 
the teller’s window and the cashier busy within. Other 
men were straggling up on the porch, and two of them 
entered. Jeff walked over to Bud, who shifted his 
position enough to bring him facing Jeff, whom he 
did not trust at all. 

“ Mr. Lawton,” Jeff began hurriedly, I want to 
stop payment on a check this young feller got from 
me by fraud. It ’s for five thousand eight hundred 
dollars, and I notify you — ” 

“ Too late, Mr. Hall. I have already accepted the 
checks. Where did the fraud come in? You can 
bring suit, of course, to recover.” 

“ I ’ll tell you, Jimmy. He bet that my horse 
couldn’t beat Dave Truman’s Boise. A good many 
bet on the same thing. But my horse proved to have 
more speed, so a lot of them are sore.” Bud chuckled 
as other Sunday losers came straggling in. 

Well, it ’s too late. I have honored the checks,” 
Jimmy said crisply, and turned to hand a sealed ma- 
nila envelope to the bookkeeper with whispered in- 
structions. The bookkeeper, who had just entered 
from the rear of the office, turned on his heel and left 
again. 


202 


Cow-Country 

Jeff muttered something to his friends and went 
outside as if their business were done for the day. 

“ I gave you five thousand in currency and the bal- 
ance in a cashier’s check,” Jimmy whispered through 
the wicket. Sent it to the house. We don’t keep a 
great deal — ten thousand ’s our limit in cash, and I 
don’t think you want to pack gold or silver — ” 

“ No, I did n’t. I ’d rather — ” 

Two men came in, one going over to the desk 
where he apparently wrote a check, the other came 
straight to the window. Bud looked into the heavily 
bearded face of a man who had the eyes of Lew 
Morris. He shifted his position a little so that he 
faced the man’s right side. The one at the desk was 
glancing slyly over his shoulder at the bookkeeper, 
who had just returned to his work. 

Can you change this twenty so I can get seven 
dollars and a quarter out of it?” asked the man at 
the window. As he slid the bill through the wicket 
he started to sneeze, and reached backward — for his 
handkerchief, apparently. 

“ Here ’s one,” said Bud. Don’t sneeze too hard, 
old-timer, or you ’re liable to sneeze your whiskers 
all off. It ’s happened before.” 

Someone outside fired a shot in at Bud, clipping his 
hatband in front. At the sound of the shot the whis- 
kered one snatched his gun out, and the cashier shot 
him. Bud had sent a shot through the outside win- 
dow and hit somebody — whom, he did not know, for 
he had no time to look. The young fellow at the desk 
had whirled, and was pointing a gun shakily, first at 
the cashier and then at Bud. Bud fired and knocked 
the gun out of his hand, then stepped over the man he 


The Catrock Gang 203 

suspected was Lew and caught the young fellow by 
the wrist. 

“ You Ve Ed Collier — by your eyes and your 
mouth/' Bud said in a rapid undertone. “ I 'm going 
to get you out of this, if you ’ll do what I say. Will 
you ? ” 

“ He got me in here, honest,” the young fellow 
quaked. He could n’t be more than nineteen. Bud 
guessed swiftly. 

“ Let me through, Jimmy,” Bud ordered hurriedly. 
“ You got the man that put up this job. I ’ll take the 
kid out the back way, if you don’t mind.” 

Jimmy opened the steel-grilled door and let them 
through. 

Ed Collier,” he said in a tone of recognition. “ I 
heard he was trailing — ” 

“ Forget it, Jimmy. If the sheriff asks about him, 
say he got out. Now, Ed, I ’m going to take you over 
to Mrs. Hanson’s. She ’ll keep an eye on you for a 
while.” 

Eddie was looking at the dead man on the floor, 
and trembling so that he did not attempt to reply ; and 
by way of Jimmy’s back fence and the widow Hanson’s 
barn and corral. Bud got Eddie safe into the kitchen 
just as that determined lady was leaving home with a 
shotgun to help defend the honor of the town. 

Bud took her by the shoulder and told her what he 
wanted her to do. “ He ’s Marian’s brother, and too 
young to be with that gang. So keep him here, safe 
and out of sight, until I come. Then I ’ll want to 
borrow your horse. Shall I tie the kid ? ” 

And me an able-bodied woman that could turn 
him acrost my knee ? ” Mrs. Hanson’s eyes snapped. 


2 04 Cow-Country 

‘‘ It more likely the boy needs his breakfast. Get 
along with ye ! ” 

Bud got along, slipping into the bank by the rear 
door and taking a hand in the desultory firing in the 
street. The sheriff had a couple of men ironed and 
one man down and the landlord of the hotel was doing 
a great deal of explaining that he had never seen the 
bandits before. Just by way of stimulating his mem- 
ory Bud threw a bullet close to his heels, and the land- 
lord thereupon grovelled and wept while he protested 
his innocence. 

‘‘ He ’s a damn liar, sheriff,’’ Bud called across the 
hoof-scarred road. ‘‘ He was talking to them about 
eleven o’clock last night. There were three that chased 
me into town, and they got him up out of bed to find 
out whether I ’d stopped there. I had n’t, luckily for 
me. If I had he ’d have showed them the way to my 
room, and he ’d have had a dead boarder this morning. 
Keep right on shedding tears, you old cut-throat! I 
was sitting on the court-house porch, last night, and I 
heard every word that passed between you and the 
Cat rockers I ” 

“ I ’ve been suspicioning here was where they got 
their information right along,” the sheriff commented, 
and slipped the handcuffs on the landlord. Investiga- 
tion proved that Jeff Hall and his friends had sud- 
denly decided that they had no business with the bank 
that day, and had mounted and galloped out of town 
when the first shot was fired. Which simplified mat- 
ters a bit for Bud. 

In Jimmy Lawton’s kitchen he received his money, 
and when the prisoners were locked up he saved him- 
self some trouble with the sheriff by hunting him up 


The Catrock Gang 205 

and explaining just why he had taken the Collier 
boy into custody. 

‘‘You know yourself he’s just a kid, and if you 
send him over the road he ’s a criminal for life. I 
believe I can make a decent man of him. I want to 
try, anyway. So you just leave me this deputy’s 
badge, and make my commission regular and perma- 
nent, and I ’ll keep an eye on him. Give me a paper 
so I can get a requisition and bring him back to stand 
trial, any time he breaks out. I ’ll be responsible for 
him, sheriff.” 

“ And who in blazes are you ? ” the sheriff inquired, 
with a grin to remove the sting of suspicion. “ Name 
sounded familiar, too ! ” 

“ Bud Birnie of the Tomahawk, down near Lara- 
mie. Telegraph Laramie if you like and find out about 
me.” 

“ Good Lord ! I know the Tomahawk like a book ! 
cried the sheriff. “ And you ’re Bob Birnie’s boy ! 
Say ! D’ you remember dragging into camp on the 
summit one time when you was about twelve years old 
— been hidin’ out from Injuns about three days? 
Well, say ! I ’m the feller that packed you into the 
tent, and fed yuh when yuh come to. Remember the 
time I rode down and stayed over night at yore place, 
the time Bill Nye come down from his prospect hole 
up in the Snowies, bringin’ word the Injuns was up 
again ? ” The sheriff grabbed Bud’s hand and held it, 
shaking it up and down now and then to emphasize his 
words. 

“ Folks called you Buddy, then. I remember yuh, 
helpin’ your mother cook ’n’ wash dishes for us fellers. 
I kinda felt like I had a claim on yuh. Buddy. 


2o6 


Cow-Country 

Say, Bill Nye, he’s famous now. Writin’ books 
full of jokes, and all that. He always was a comical 
cuss. Don’t you remember how the bunch of us 
laughed at him when he drifted in about dark, him 
and four burros — that one he called Boomerang, that 
he named his paper after in Laramie? I ’ve told lots 
of times what he said when he come stoopin’ into the 
kitchen — how Colorou had sent him word that he ’d 
give Bill just four sleeps to get outa there. An, 

^ Hell ! ’ says Bill. ‘ I did n’t need any sleeps ! ’ An’ we 
all turned to arid cooked a hull beef yore dad had 
butchered that day — and Bill loaded up with the first 
chunks we had ready, and pulled his freight. He sure 
did n't need any sleeps — ” 

Yes, you bet I remember. Jesse Cummings is 
your name. I sure ought to remember you, for you 
and your partner saved my life, I expect. I thought 
I ’d seen you before, when you made me deputy. How 
about the kid? Can I have him? Lew Morris, the 
man that kept him on the wrong side of the law, is 
dead, I heard the doctor say. Jimmy got him when 
he pulled his gun.” 

“ Why, yes — if the town don’t git onto me turnin’ 
him loose, I guess you can have the kid for all I care. 
He did n’t take any part in the holdup, did he. 
Buddy?” 

He was over by the customers’ desk when Lew 
started to hold up the cashier.” 

‘'Well I got enough prisoners so I guess he won’t 
be missed. But you look out how yuh git him outa 
town. Better wait til kinda late tomight. I sure 
would like to see him git a show. Them two Collier 
kids never did have a square deal, far as I ’ve heard. 


The Catrock Gang 207 

But be careful, youngster. I want another term off 
this county if I can get it. Don’t go get me in bad.” 

“ I won’t,” Bud promised and hurried back to Mrs. 
Hanson’s house. 

” That estimable lady was patting butter in a wooden 
^ bowl when Bud went in. She turned and brushed a 
wisp of gray hair from her face with her fore arm 
and sh-shed him into silent stepping, motioning toward 
an inner room. Bud tiptoed and looked, saw Ed Col- 
lier fast asleep, swaddled in a blanket, and grinned his 
approval. 

He made sure that the sleep was genuine, also that 
the blanket swaddling was efficient. Moreover, he 
discovered that Mrs. Hanson had very prudently at- 
tached a thin wire to the foot of the blanket cocoon, 
had passed the wire through a knot hole in a cupboard 
set into the partition, and to a sheep bell which she 
no doubt expected to ring upon provocation — such 
as a prisoner struggling to release his feet from a gray 
blanket fastened with many large safety pins. 

He went right to sleep, the minute I ’d fed him 
and tied him snug,” Mrs. Hanson murmured. “ He 
was a sulky diwle and would n’t give a decent an- 
swer to me till he had his stomach filled. From the 
way he waded into the ham and eggs, I guess a square 
meal and him has been strangers for a long time.” 

Sleep and Ed Collier must have been strangers also, 
for Bud attended the inquest of Lew Morris, visited 
afterwards with Sheriff Cummings, who was full of 
reminiscence and wanted to remind Bud of everything 
that had ever happened within his knowledge during 
the time when they had been neighbors with no more 
than forty miles or so between them. The sheriff offered 


2o8 


Cow-Country 

Bud a horse and saddle, which he promised to deliver 
to the widow’s corral after the citizens of Crater had 
gone to bed. And while he did not say that it would 
be Ed’s horse, Bud guessed shrewdly that it would. 
After that, Bud carefully slit the lining of his boots, 
tucked money and checks into the opening he had 
made, and did a very neat repair job. 

All that while Ed Collier slept. When Bud returned 
for his supper Ed had evidently just awakened and 
was lying on his back biting his lip while he eyed the 
wire that ran from his feet to the parting of a pair of 
calico curtains. He did not see Bud, who was watch- 
ing him through a crack in the door at the head of the 
bed. Ed was plainly puzzled at the wire and a bit 
resentful. He lifted his feet until the wire was well 
slackened, held them poised for a minute and deliber- 
ately brought them down hard on the floor. 

The result was all that he could possibly have expected. 
Somewhere was a vicious clang, the rattle of a tin pan 
and the approaching outcry of a woman. Bud re- 
treated to the kitchen to view the devastation and 
discovered that a sheep bell not too clean had been 
dislodged from a nail and dragged through one pan 
of milk into another, where it was rolling on its edge, 
stirring the cream that had risen. As Mrs. Hanson 
rushed in from the back yard, Bud returned to the 
angry captive’s side. 

I ’ve got him safe,” he soothed Mrs. Hanson and 
her shotgun. ** He just had a nightmare. Perhaps 
that breakfast you fed him was too hearty. I ’ll look 
after him now, Mrs. Hanson. We won’t be bothering 
you long, anyway.” 

Mrs. Hanson was talking to herself when she went 


The Catrock Gang 209 

to her milk pans, and Bud released Eddie Collier, guess- 
ing how humiliating it must be to be a young fellow 
pinned into a blanket with safety pins, and knowing 
from certain experiences of his own that humiliation 
is quite as apt to breed trouble as any other emotion. 

Eddie sat up on the edge of the bed and stared at 
Bud. His eyes were like Marianas in shape and color, 
but their expression was suspicion, defiance, and watch- 
fulness blended into one compelling stare that spelled 
Fear. Or so Bud read it, having trapped animals of 
various grades ever since he had caught the hawn- 
toe ”, and seen that look many, many times in the eyes 
of his catch. 

How ^d you like to take a trip with me — as a 
kind of a partner? ” Bud began carelessly, pulling a 
splinter off the homemade bed for which Mrs. Hanson 
would not thank him — and beginning to whittle it to 
a sharp point aimlessly, as men have a way of doing 
when their minds are at work upon a problem which 
requires much constructive thinking. 

‘‘ Pardner in what ? ” Eddie countered sullenly. 

“ Pardner in what I am planning to do to make 
money. I can make money, you know — and stay on 
friendly terms with the sheriff, too. That ’s better 
than your bunch has been able to do. I don’t mind 
telling you — it ’s stale news, I guess — that I cleaned 
up close to twelve thousand dollars in less than a month, 
off a working capital of three thoroughbred horses and 
about sixty dollars cash. And I ’ll add the knowledge 
that I was playing against men that would slip a cold 
deck if they played solitaire, they were so crooked. 
And if that does n’t recommend me sufficiently, I ’ll 
say I ’m a deputy sheriff of Crater County, and Jesse 


2 10 Cow-Country 

Cummings knows my past. I want to hire you to go 
with me and make some money, and I ’ll pay you forty 
a month and five per cent bonus on my profits at the 
end of two years. The first year may not show any 
profits, but the second year will. How does it sound 
to you ? ’’ 

He had been rolling a cigarette, and now he offered 
the ‘‘ makings ” to Ed, who accepted them mechani- 
cally, his eyes still staring hard at Bud. He glanced 
toward the door and the one little window where wild 
cucumber vines were thickly matted, and Bud inter- 
preted his glance. 

Lew and another Catrocker — the one that tried 
to rope me down in the Sinks — are dead, and three 
more are in jail. Business won’t be very brisk with 
the Catrock gang for a while.” 

“If you ’re trying to bribe me into squealing on the 
rest, you ’re a damn fool,” said Eddie harshly. “ I 
ain’t the squealing kind. You can lead me over to 
jail first. I ’d rather take my chances with the others.” 
He was breathing hard when he finished. 

“ Rather than work for me ? ” Bud sliced off the 
sharp point which he had so carefully whittled, and 
began to sharpen a new one. Eddie watched him 
fascinatedly. 

“ Rather than squeal on the bunch. There ’s no 
other reason in God’s world why you ’d make me an 
offer like that. I ain’t a fool quite, if my head does 
run up to a peak.” 

Bud chewed his lip, whittled, and finally threw the 
splinter away. When he turned toward Eddie his 
eyes were shiny. 

“ Kid, you ’re breaking your sister’s heart, follow- 


2 I I 


The Catrock Gang 

ing this trail. I ’d like to see you give her a chance 
to speak your name without blinking back tears. I ’d 
like to see her smile all the way from her dimples to 
her eyes when she thinks of you. That ’s why I made 
the offer — that and because I think you M earn your 
wages.'’ 

Eddie looked at him, looked away, staring vacantly 
at the wall. His eyelashes were blinking very fast, 
his lip began to tremble. “You — I — I never wanted 
to — I ain’t worth saving — oh, hell ! I never had a 
chance before — ” He dropped sidewise on the bed, 
buried his face in his arms and sobbed hoarsely, like 
the boy he was. 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 


Bud Rides Through Catrock and Loses Marian 

You 'll have to show me the trail, pardner,” said 
Bud when they were making their way cautiously out 
of town by way of the tin can suburbs. “ I could 
figure out the direction all right, and make it by morn- 
ing; but seeing you grew up here, I ’ll let you pilot.” 

You ’ll have to tell me where you want to go, 
first,” said Eddie with a good deal of sullenness still 
in his voice. 

“ Little Lost.” Without intending to do so. Bud 
put a good deal of meaning in his voice. 

Eddie did not say anything, but veered to the right, 
climbing higher on the slope than Bud would have 
gone. '‘We can take the high trail,” he volunteered 
when they stopped to rest the horses. “ It takes up 
over the summit and down Burroback Valley. It ’s 
longer, but the stage road edges along the Sinks and — 
it might be rough going, after we get down a piece.” 

" How about the side-hill trail, through Catrock 
Peak?” 

Eddie turned sharply. In the starlight Bud was 
watching him, wondering what he was thinking. 

" How ’d you get next to any side-hill trail ? ” Eddie 
asked after a minute. " You been over it? ” 


Bud Rides Through Catrock 213 

“ I surely have. And I expect to go again, to-night. 
A young fellow about your size is going to act as 
pilot, and get me to Little Lost as quick as possible. 
It ’ll be daylight at that.” 

‘‘If you got another day coming, it better be before 
daylight we get there,” Eddie retorted glumly. He 
hesitated, turned his horse and led the way down the 
slope, angling down away from the well-travelled trail 
over the summit of Gold Gap. 

That hesitation told Bud, without words, how tenu- 
ous was his hold upon Eddie. He possessed sufficient 
imagination to know that his own carefully disciplined 
past, sheltered from actual contact with evil, had given 
him little enough by which to measure the soul of a 
youth like Eddie Collier. 

How long Eddie had supped and slept with thieves 
and murderers. Bud could only guess. From the little 
that Marian had told him, Eddie’s father had been one 
of the gang. At least, she had plainly stated that he 
and Lew had been partners — though Collier might 
have been ranching innocently enough, and ignorant 
of Lew’s real nature. 

At all events, Eddie was a lad well schooled in 
iniquity such as the wilderness fosters in sturdy fash- 
ion. Wide spaces give room for great virtues and 
great wickedness. Bud felt that he was betting large 
odds on an unknown quantity. He was placing 
himself literally in the hands of an acknowledged Cat- 
rocker, because of the clean gaze of a pair of eyes, 
the fine curve of the mouth. 

For a long time they rode without speech. Eddie 
in the lead. Bud following, alert to every little move- 
ment in the sage, every little sound of the night. That 


2 14 Cow-Country 

was what we rather naively call second nature ”, 
a habit bom of Bud’s growing years amongst dangers 
which every pioneer family knows. Alert he was, yet 
deeply dreaming; a tenuous dream too sweet to come 
true, he told himself; a dream which he never dared to 
dream until the cool stars, and the little night wind 
began to whisper to him that Marian was free from 
the brute that had owned her. He scarcely dared think 
of it yet. Shyly he remembered how he had held her 
hand to give her courage while they rode in darkness ; 
her poor work-roughened little hand, that had been 
cold when he took it first, and had warmed in his clasp. 
He remembered how he had pressed her hands together 
when they parted — why, surely it was longer ago than 
last night ! — and had kissed them reverently as he 
would kiss the fingers of a queen. 

Hell ’s too good for Lew Morris,” he blurted un- 
expectedly, the thought of Marian’s bruised cheek 
coming like a blow. 

“Want to go and tell him so? If you don’t yuh 
better shut up,” Eddie whispered fierce warning. 
“ You need n’t think all the Catrockers are dead or in 
jail. They ’s a few left and they ’d kill yuh quicker ’n 
they ’d take a drink.” 

Bud, embarrassed at the emotion behind his state- 
ment, rather than ashamed of the remark itself, made 
no reply. 

Much as Eddie desired silence, he himself pulled up 
and spoke again when Bud had ridden close. 

“ I guess you come through the Gap,” he whis- 
pered. “ They ’s a shorter way than that — Sis don’t 
know it. It ’s one the bunch uses a lot — if they 
catch us — I can save my hide by makin’ out I led you 


Bud Rides Through Catrock 215 

into a trap. You ^11 get yours, anyway. How much 
sand you got ? ” 

Bud leaned and spat into the darkness. Not much. 
Maybe enough to get through this scary short-cut of 
yours.” 

‘‘ You tell the truth when you say scary. It ’s so 
dam crazy to go down Catrock Canyon maybe they 
won’t think we ’d tackle it. And if they catch us, I ’ll 
say I led yuh in — and then — say, I ’m kinda bettin’ 
on your luck. The way you cleaned up on them horses, 
maybe luck ’ll stay with you. And I ’ll help all 
I can, honest.” 

Fine.” Bud reached over and closed his fingers 
around Eddie’s thin, boyish arm. ‘‘ You did n’t tell 
me yet why the other trail is n’t good enough.” 

“ I heard a sound in the Gap tunnel, that ’s why. 
You maybe did n’t know what it was. I know them 
echoes to a fare-ye-well. Somebody ’s there — likely 
posted waiting.” He was motionless for a space, lis- 
tening. 

“Get off — easy. Take off your spurs.” Eddie 
was down, whispering eagerly to Bud. “ There ’s a 
draft of air from the blow-holes that comes this way. 
Sound comes outa there a lot easier than it goes in. 
Sis and I found that out. Lead your horse — if they 
jump us, give him a lick with the quirt and hide in 
the brush.” 

Like Indians the two made their way down a ram- 
bling slope not far from where Marian had guided 
Bud. To-night, however, Eddie led the way to the 
right instead of the left, which seemed to Bud a direc- 
tion that would bring them down Oldman creek, that 
dry river bed, and finally, perhaps, to the race track. 


2i6 Cow-Country 

Eddie never did explain just how he made his way 
through a maze of water-cut pillars and heaps of sand- 
stone so bewildering that Bud afterward swore that 
in spite of the fact that he was leading Sunfish, he fre- 
quently found himself at that patient animal’s tail, 
where they were doubled around some freakish pillar. 
Frequently Eddie stopped and peered past his horse 
to make sure that Bud had not lost the trail. And 
finally, because he was no doubt worried over that 
possibility, he knotted his rope to his saddle horn, 
brought back a length that reached a full pace behind 
the tail of the horse, and placed the end in Bud’s hand. 

‘'If yuh lose me you ’re a goner,” he whispered. 
“ So hang onto that, no matter what comes. And don’t 
yuh speak to me. This is hell’s corral and we ’re 
walking the top rail right now.” He made sure that 
Bud had the loop in his hand, then slipped back past 
his horse and went on, walking more quickly. 

Bud admitted afterwards that he was perfectly will- 
ing to be led like a tame squirrel around the top of 
“ hell’s corral ”, whatever that was. All that Bud saw 
was an intricate assembly of those terrific pillars, whose 
height he did not know, since he had no time to glance 
up and estimate the distance. There was no method, no 
channel worn through in anything that could be called a 
line. Whatever primeval torrent had honeycombed 
the ledge had left it so before ever its waters had 
formed a straight passage through. How Eddie knew 
the way he could only conjecture, remembering how 
he himself had ridden devious trails down on the Tom- 
ahawk range when he was a boy. It rather hurt his 
pride to realize that never had he seen anything ap- 
proaching this madman’s trail. 


Bud Rides Through Catrock 217 

Without warning they plunged into darkness again. 
Darkness so black that Bud knew they had entered 
another of those mysterious, subterranean passages 
which had created such names as abounded in the 
country : the '' Sinks Little Lost ”, and Sunk River 
itself which disappeared mysteriously. He was be- 
ginning to wonder with a grim kind of humor if he 
himself was not about to follow the example of the 
rivers and disappear, when the soft padding of their 
footfalls blurred under the whistling of wind. Fine 
particles of sand stung him, a blast full against him 
halted him for a second. But the rope pulled steadily 
and he went on, half dragged into starlight again. 

They were in a canyon; deep, sombre in its night 
shadows, its width made known to him by the strip of 
starlight overhead. Directly before them, not more 
than a hundred yards, a light shone through a window. 

The rope slackened in his hands, and Eddie slipped 
back to him shivering a little as Bud discovered when 
he laid a hand on his arm. 

‘‘ I guess I better tie yuh — but it won’t be so yuh 
can’t shoot. Get on, and let me tie your feet into the 
stirrups. I — I guess maybe we can get past, all right 
— I ’ll try — I want to go and take that job you said 
you ’d give me ! ” 

What ’s the matter, son ? Is that where the Cat- 
rockers hang out?” Bud swung into the saddle. “I 
trust you, kid. You ’re her brother.” 

‘‘ 1 — I want to live like Sis wants me to. But I ’ve 
got to tie yuh, Mr. Birnie, and that looks — But 
they ’d k — you don’t know how they kill traitors. I 
saw one — ” He leaned against Bud’s leg, one hand 
reaching up to the saddle horn and gripping it in a 


2 1 8 Cow-Country 

passing frenzy. If you say so,” he whispered rap- 
idly, “ we ’ll sneak up and shoot ’em through the win- 
dow before they get a chance — ” 

Bud reached out his hand and patted Eddie on the 
shoulder. That job of yours don’t call for any kill- 
ing we can avoid,” he said. ‘‘ Go ahead and tie me. 
No use of wasting lead on two men when one will do. 
It ’s all right. I trust you, pardner.” 

Eddie’s shoulders stiffened. He stood up, looked 
toward the light and gripped Bud’s hand. I thought 
they’d be asleep — what was home,” he said. “We 
got to ride past the cabin to get out through another 
water-wash. But you take your coat and tie your 
horse’s feet, and I ’ll tie mine. I — can’t tie you, Mr. 
Birnie. We ’ll chance it together.” 

Bud did not say anything at all, for which Eddie 
seemed grateful. They muffled eight hoofs, rode across 
the canyon’s bottom and passed the cabin so closely 
that the light of a smoky lantern on a table was plainly 
visible to Bud, as was the shaggy profile of a man 
who sat with his arms folded, glowering over a pipe. 
He heard nothing. Bud halted Sunfish and looked 
again to make sure, while Eddie beckoned frantically. 
They went on undisturbed — the Catrockers kept no 
dogs. 

They passed a couple of corrals, rode over springy 
sod where Bud dimly discerned hay stubble. Eddie 
let down a set of bars, replaced them carefully, and 
they crossed another meadow. It struck Bud that the 
Catrockers were fairly well entrenched in their can- 
yon, with plenty of horse feed at least. 

They followed a twisting trail along the canyon’s 
wall, rode into another pit of darkness, came out into 


Bud Rides Through Catrock 219 

a sandy stretch that seemed hazily familiar to Bud. 
They crossed this, dove into the bushes following a 
dim trail, and in ten minutes Eddie’s horse backed 
suddenly against Sunfish’s nose. Bud stood in his 
stirrups, reins held firmly in his left hand, and in his 
right his six-shooter with the hammer lifted, ready to 
snap down. 

A tall figure stepped away from the peaked rocks and 
paused at Bud’s side. 

“ I been waiting for Marian,” he said bluntly. ‘‘ You 
know anything about her ? ” 

“ She turned back last night after she had shown 
me the way.” Bud’s throat went dry. ** Did they 
miss her ? ” He leaned aggressively. 

“ Not till breakfast time, they did n’t. I was wait- 
ing here, most all night — except right after you folks 
left. She was n’t missed, and I never flagged her — 
and she ain’t showed up yet ! ” 

Bud sat there stunned, trying to think what might 
have happened. Those dark passages through the 
mountains — the ledge — “ Ed, you know that trail 
she took me over? She was coming back that way. 
She could get lost — ” 

“No she couldn’t — not Sis. If her horse didn’t 
act the fool — what horse was it she rode ? ” Ed 
turned to Jerry as if he would know. 

“ Boise,” Bud spoke quickly, as though seconds were 
precious. “ She said he knew the way.” 

“ He sure ought to,” Eddie replied emphatically. 
“ Boise belongs to Sis, by rights. The mare got killed 
and Dad gave him to Sis when he was a suckin’ colt, 
and Sis raised him on cow’s milk and broke him her- 
self. She rode him all over. Lew took and sold him 


220 


Cow-Country 

to Dave, and gambled the money, and Sis never signed 
no bill of sale. They could n’t make her. Sis has got 
spunk, once you stir her up. She ’ll tackle anything. 
She ’s always claimed Boise is hers. Boise knows the 
Gap like a book. Sis could n’t get off the trail if she 
rode him.” 

Something happened, then,” Bud muttered stub- 
bornly. “ Four men came through behind us, and we 
waited out in the dark to let them pass. Then she sent 
me down to the cfeek-bottom, and she turned back. 
If they got her — ” He turned Sunfish in the narrow 
brush trail. She ’s hurt, or they got her — I’m 
going back ! ” he said grimly. 

** Hell ! you can’t do any good alone,” Eddie pro- 
tested, coming after him. “We’ll go look for her, 
Mr. Birnie, but we ’ve got to have something so we 
can see. If Jerry could dig up a couple of lanterns — ” 

“ You wait. I ’m coming along,” Jerry called 
guardedly. “ I ’ll bring lanterns.” 

To Bud that time of waiting was torment. He had 
faced danger and tragedy since he could toddle, and 
fear had never overridden the titillating sense of ad- 
venture. But then the danger had been for himself. 
Now terror conjured pictures whose horror set him 
trembling. Twenty-four hours and more had passed 
since he had kissed Marian’s hand and let her go — to 
what ? The inky blackness of those tunnelled caverns 
in the Gap confronted his mind like a nightmare. He 
could not speak of it — he dared not think of it, and 
yet he must. 

Jerry came on horseback, with three unlighted lan- 
terns held in a cluster by their wire handles. Eddie 
immediately urged his horse into the brushy edge of 


Bud Rides Through Catrock 221 

the trail so that he might pass Bud and take the lead. 
‘‘ You sure made quick time,” he remarked approv- 
ingly to Jerry. 

“ I raided Dave’s cache of whiskey or I ’d have been 
here quicker,” Jerry explained. ‘‘We might need 
some.” 

Bud gritted his teeth. Ride, why don’t yuh ? ” 
he urged Eddie harshly. “ What the hell ails that 
horse of yours ? You got him hobbled ? ” 

Eddie glanced back over his bobbing shoulder as 
his horse trotted along the blind trail through the 
brush. “ This here ain’t no race track,” he expostu- 
lated. “We ’ll make it quicker without no broken 
legs.” 

There was justice in his protest and Bud said noth- 
ing. But Sunfish’s head bumped the tail of Eddie’s 
horse many times during that ride. Once in the Gap, 
with a lighted lantern in his rein hand and his six- 
shcot,er in the other — because it was ticklish riding, 
in there with lights revealing them to anyone who 
might be coming through — he was content to go 
slowly, peering this way and that as he rode. 

Once Eddie halted and turned to speak to them. 
“ I know Boise would n’t leave the trail. If Sis had to 
duck off and hide from somebody, he ’d come back to 
the trail. Loose, he ’d do that. Sis and I used to ex- 
plore around in here just for fun, and kept it for our 
secret till Lew found out. She always rode Boise. 
I ’m dead sure he ’d bring her out all right.” 

“ She has n’t come out — yet. Go on,” said Bud, 
and Eddie rode forward obediently. 

Three hours it took them to search the various 
passages where Eddie thought it possible that Marian 


222 


Cow-Country 

had turned aside. Bud saw that the trail through was 
safe as any such trail could be, and he wondered at 
the nerve and initiative of the girl and the boy who 
had explored the place and found where certain queer 
twists and turns would lead. Afterwards he learned 
that Marian was twelve and Eddie ten when first they 
had hidden there from Indians, and they had been five 
years in finding where every passage led. Also, in 
daytime the place was not so fearsome, since sunlight 
slanted down into many a passageway through the 
“ blow-holes ” high above. 

“ She ain’t here. I knew she was n’t,” Eddie an- 
nounced when the final tunnel let them into the graying 
light of dawn beyond the Peak. 

“ In that case — ” Bud glanced from him to Jerry, 
who was blowing out his lantern. 

Jerry let down the globe carefully, at the same time 
glancing soberly at Bud. “ The kid knows better than 
I do what would happen if Lew met up with her and 
Boise.” 

Eddie shook his head miserably, his eyes fixed help- 
lessly upon Bud. “ Lew never, Mr. Birnie. I was 
with him every minute from dark till — till the cashier 
shot him. We come up the way I took you through 
the canyon. Lew never knew she was gone any more 
than I did.” 

Jerry bit his lip. Kid, what if the gang run acrost 
her, knowing Lew was dead ? ” he grated. And her 
on Boise? The word’s out that Bud stole Boise. 
Dave and the boys rode out to round him up — and they 
ain’t done it, so they ’re still riding — we ’ll hope. Kid, 
you know damn well your gang would double-cross 
Dave in a minute, now Lew ’s killed. If they got hold 


Bud Rides Through Catrock 223 

of the horse, do yuh think they ’d turn him over to 
Dave?” 

“ No, you bet your life they would nh! ” Eddie re- 
torted. 

“ And what about her? ” Bud cut in with ominous 
calm. “ She ^s your sister, kid. Would you be worried 
if you knew they had her and the horse? ” 

Eddie gulped and looked away. “ They would n’t 
hurt her unless they knew ’t Lew was dead,” he said. 
‘‘ And them that went to Crater was killed or jailed, 
so — ” He hesitated. ‘‘ It looked to me like Anse 
was setting up waiting for the bunch to get back from 
Crater. He — he ’s always jumpy when they go off 
and stay, and it ’d be just like him to set there and wait 
till daylight. It looks to me, Mr. Birnie, like him and 
— and the rest don’t know yet that the Crater job 
was a fizzle. They would n’t think of such a thing as 
taking Sis, or Boise either, unless they knew Lew was 
dead.” 

Are you sure of that ? ” Bud had him in a grip 
that widened the boy’s eyes with something approach- 
ing fear. 

“ Yes sir, Mr. Birnie, I ’m sure. What did n’t go 
to Crater stayed in camp — or was gone on some other 
trip. No, I ’m sure! ” He jerked away with sudden 
indignation at Bud’s disbelief. “ Say I Do you think 
I ’m bad enough to let my sister get into trouble with 
the Catrockers ? I know they never got her. More ’n 
likely it ’s Dave.” 

Dave went up Burroback Valley,” Jerry stated 
flatly. Him and the boys was n’t on this side the 
ridge. They had it sized up that Bud might go from 
Crater straight across into Black Rim, and they rode 


2 24 Cow-Country 

up to catch him as he comes back across.” Jerry grinned 
a little. “ They wanted that money you peeled off the 
crowd Sunday, Bud. They was willing you should 
get to Crater and cash them checks before they over- 
hauled yuh and strung yuh up.” 

“ You don’t suppose they ’d hurt Marian if they 
found her with the horse? She might have followed 
along to Crater — ” 

‘‘ She never,” Eddie contradicted. And Jerry de- 
clared in the same breath, “ She ’d be too much afraid 
of Lew. No, if they found her with the horse they ’d 
take him away from her and send her back on another 
one to do the kitchen work,” he conjectured with some 
contempt. “If they found you without the horse — 
well — men have been hung on suspicion. Bud. 
Money ’s something everybody wants, and there ain’t 
a man in the valley but what has figured your winnings 
down to the last two-bit piece. It ’s just a runnin’ 
match now to see what bunch gets to yuh first.” 

“ Oh, the money! I ’d give the whole of it to any- 
one that would tell me Marian ’s -safe,” Bud cried un- 
guardedly in his misery. Whereat Jerry and Ed 
looked at each other queerly. 


CHAPTER TWENTY 


“Pick Your Footing!''- 

The three sat irresolutely on their horses at the 
tunnel's end of the Gap, staring out over the valley 
of the Red water and at the mountains beyond. Bud's 
face was haggard and the lines of his mouth were hard. 
It was so vast a country in which to look for one 
little woman who had not gone back to see Jerry’s 
signal 1 

“ I '11 bet yuh Sis cleared out,” Eddie blurted, look- 
ing at Bud eagerly, as if he had been searching for 
some comforting word. “ Sis has got lots of sand. 
She used to call me a 'fraid cat all the time when I 
did n’t want to go where she did. I '11 bet she just 
took Boise and run off with him. She would, if she 
made up her mind — and I guess she 'd had about as 
much as she could stand, cookin' at Little Lost — ” 
Bud lifted his head and looked at Eddie like a man 
newly awakened. “ I gave her money to take home 
for me, to my mother, down Laramie way. I begged 
her to go if she was liable to be in trouble over 
leaving the ranch. But she said she would n’t go 
— not unless she was missed. She knew I 'd come 
back to the ranch. I just piled her hands full of bills 
in the dark and told her to use them if she had to — ” 
“ She might have done it,” Jerry hazarded hope- 


226 


Cow- Country 

fully. Maybe she did sneak in some other way and 
get her things. She 'd have to take some clothes along. 
Women folks always have to pack. By gosh, she 
could hide Boise out somewhere and — ” 

For a young man in danger of being lynched by his 
boss for horse stealing and waylaid and robbed by a 
gang notorious in the country, Bud’s appetite for risk 
seemed insatiable that morning. For he added the 
extreme possibility of breaking his neck by reckless 
riding in the next hour. 

He swung Sunfish about and jabbed him with the 
spurs, ducking into the gloom of the Gap as if the 
two who rode behind were assassins on his trail. Once 
he spoke, and that was to Sunfish. His tone was 
savage. 

“ Damn your lazy hide, you ’ve been through here 
twice and you ’ve got daylight to help — now pick up 
your feet and travel ! ” 

Sunfish travelled; and the pace he set sent even 
Jerry gasping now and then when he came to the 
worst places, with the sound of galloping hoofs in the 
distance before him, and Eddie coming along behind 
and lifting his voice warningly now and then. Even 
the Catrockers had held the Gap in respect, and had 
ridden its devious trail cautiously. But caution was 
a meaningless word to Bud just then while a small 
flame of hope burned steadily before him. 

The last turn, where on the first trip Sunfish lost 
Boise and balked for a minute, he made so fast that 
Sunfish left a patch of yellowish hair on a pointed 
rock and came into the open snorting fire of wrath. 
He went over the rough ground like a bouncing ante- 
lope, simply because he was too mad to care how 


“Pick Your Footing!” 227 

many legs he broke. At the peak of rocks he showed 
an inclination to stop, and Bud, who had been thinking 
and planning while he hoped, pulled him to a stand and 
waited for the others to come up. They could not go 
nearer the corrals without incurring the danger of 
being overheard, and that must not happen. 

“ You damn fool,” gritted Jerry when he came up 
with Bud. “If I ’d knowed you wanted to commit 
suicide I ’d a caved your head in with a rock and 
saved myself the craziest ride I ever took in m’ life ! ” 
“ Oh, shut up ! ” Bud snapped impatiently. “We ’re 
here, are n’t we? Now listen to me, boys. You catch 
up my horses — Jerry, are you coming along with me? 
You may as well. I ’m a deputy sheriff, and if any- 
body stops you for whatever you ’ve done, I ’ll show 
a warrant for your arrest. And by thunder,” he de- 
clared with a faint grin, “ I ’ll serve it if I have to 
to keep you with me. I don’t know what you ’ve done, 
and I don’t care. I want you. So catch up my horses 
— and Jerry, you can pack my war-bag and roll your 
bed and mine, if I ’m too busy while I ’m here.” 

“ You ’re liable to be busy, all right,” Jerry inter- 
polated grimly. 

“ Well, they won’t bother you. Ed, you better get 
the horses. Take Sunfish, here, and graze him some- 
where outa sight. We’ll keep going, and we might 
have to start suddenly.” 

“ How about Sis ? I thought — ” 

“ I ’m going to turn Little Lost upside down to find 
her, if she ’s here. If she is n’t, I ’m kinda hoping she 
went down to mother. She said there was no other 
place where she could go. And she ’d feel that she 
had to deliver the money, perhaps — because I must 


228 


Cow-Country 

have given her a couple of thousand dollars. It was 
quite a roll, mostly in fifties and hundreds, and I 'm 
short that much. I ’m just gambling that the size of 
it made her feel she must go.” 

“ That ’d be Sis all over, Mr. Birnie.” Eddie 
glanced around him uneasily. The sun was shining 
level in his eyes, and sunlight to Eddie had long meant 
danger. ‘‘ I guess we better hurry, then. I ’ll get 
the horses down outa sight, and come back here afoot 
and wait.” 

“ Do that, kid,” said Bud, slipping wearily off Sun- 
fish. He gave the reins into Eddie’s hand, motioned 
Jerry with his head to follow, and hurried down the 
winding path to the corrals. The cool brilliance of the 
morning, the cheerful warbling of little, wild canaries 
in the bushes as he passed, for once failed to thrill him 
with joy of life. He was wondering whether to go 
straight to the house and search it if necessary to 
make sure that she had not been there, or whether 
Indian cunning would serve him best. His whole 
being ached for direct action; his heart trembled with 
fear lest he should jeopardize Marian’s safety by his 
own impetuous haste to help her. 

Pop, coming from the stable just as Bud was cross- 
ing the corral, settled the question for him. Pop 
peered at him sharply, put a hand to the small of his 
back and came stepping briskly toward him, his jaw 
working like a sheep eating hay. 

Afoot, air ye? ” he exclaimed curiously. ‘‘ What- 
fer idea yuh got in yore head now, young feller? 
Cornin’ back here afoot when ye rid two fast horses 
off? Needn’t be afraid of ole Pop — not unless yuh 
lie to ’im and try to git somethin’ fur nothin’. Made 


“Pick Your Footing!” 229 

off with Lew’s wife, too, didn’t ye? Oh, there ain’t 
much gits past ole Pop, even if he ain’t the man he 
used to be. I seen yuh lookin’ at her when yuh oughta 
been eatin’. I seen yuh ! An’ her watchin’ you when 
she thought nobuddy ’d ketch her at it ! Sho ! Shucks 
a’mighty ! You been playin’ hell all around, now, ain’t 
ye? Needn’t lie — I know what my own eyes tells 
me! ” 

“ You know a lot, then, that I wish I knew. I ’ve 
been in Crater all the time. Pop. Did you know Lew 
was mixed up in a bank robbery yesterday, and the 
cashier of the bank shot him? The r^st of the gang is 
dead or in jail. The sheriff did some good work there 
for a few minutes.” 

Pop pinched in his lips and stared at Bud unwink- 
ingly for a minute. ‘‘ Don’t lie to me,” he warned 
petulantly. Went to Crater, did ye? Cashed them 
checks, I expect.” 

Bud pulled his mouth into a rueful grin. ‘‘ Yes, 
Pop, I cashed the checks, all right — and here ’s what ’s 
left of the money. I guess,” he went on while he 
pulled out a small roll of bills and licked his finger 
preparatory to counting them, ‘‘ I might better have 
stuck to running my horses. Poker ’s sure a fright. 
The way it can eat into a man’s pocket — ” 

‘‘ Went and lost all that money on poker, did ye? ” 
Pop’s voice w^as shrill. After me tellin’ yuh how to 
git it — and showin’ yuh how yuh could beat Boise 
— ” the old man’s rage choked him. He thrust his 
face close to Bud’s and glared venomously. 

Yes, and just to show you I appreciate it, I ’m 
going to give you what ’s left after I ’ve counted off 
enough to see me through to Spokane. I feel sick, 


230 Cow-Country 

Pop. I want change of air. And as for riding two 
fast horses to Crater — ” he paused while he counted 
slowly, Pop licking his lips avidly as he watched, 
“ — why I don’t know what you mean. I only ride 
one horse at a time, Pop, when I ’m sober. And I 
was sober till I hit Crater.” 

He stopped counting when he reached fifty dollars, 
and gave the rest to Pop, who thumbed the bank notes 
in a frenzy of greed until he saw that he had two hun- 
dred dollars in his possession. The glee which he tried 
to hide, the crafty suspicion that this was not all of it, 
the returning conviction that Bud was actually almost 
penniless, and the cunning assumption of senility, was 
pictured in his face. Pop’s poor, miserly soul was for 
a minute shamelessly revealed. Distraught though he 
was. Bud stared and shuddered a little at the spectacle. 

“ I always said ’t you ’re a good, honest, well-mean- 
ing boy,” Pop cackled, slyly putting the money out 
of sight while he patted Bud on the shoulder. Dave, 
he thought mebby you took and stole Boise — and if I 
was you. Bud, I ’d git to Spokane quick as I could, 
and not let Dave ketch ye. Dave ’s out now lookin’ 
for ye. If he suspicioned you ’d have the gall to come 
right back to Little Lost, I expect mebby he ’d string 
yuh up, young feller. Dave ’s got a nasty temper — 
he has so ! ” 

“ There ’s something else. Pop, that I don’t like 
very well to be accused of. You say Mrs. Morris is 
gone. I don’t know a thing about that, or about the 
horse being gone. I ’ve been in Crater. I ’d just got 
my money out of the bank when it was held up, and 
Lew was shot.” 

Pop teetered and gummed his tobacco and grinned 


“Pick Your Footing!” 231 

foxily. Shucks ! I don’t care nothin’ about Lew’s 
wife goin’, ner I don’t care nothin’ much about the 
horse. They ain’t no fun-ral uh mine, Bud. Dave 
an’ Lew, let ’em look after their own belongin’s.” 

“ They ’ll have to, far as I ’m concerned,” said Bud. 

What would I want of a horse I can beat any time 
I want to run mine ? Dave must think I ’m scared to 
ride fast, since Sunday ! And Pop, I ’ve got troubles 
enough without having a woman on my hands. Are 
you sure Marian ’s gone ? ” 

Sure? ” Pop snorted. Honey, she ’s had to do 
the cookin’ for me an’ Jerry — and if I ain’t sure — ” 
Bud did not wait to hear him out. There was 
Honey, whom he would very much like to avoid meet- 
ing; so the sooner he made certain of Marian’s delib- 
erate flight the better, since Honey was not an early 
riser. He went to the house and entered by way of 
the kitchen, feeling perfectly sure all the while that 
Pop was watching him. The disorder there was suf- 
ficiently convincing that Marian was gone, so he tip- 
toed across the room to a door through which he had 
never seen any one pass save Lew and Marian. 

It was her bedroom, meagrely furnished, but in 
perfect order. On the goods-box dresser with a wavy- 
glassed mirror above it, her hair brush, comb and a 
few cheap toilet necessities lay, with the comb across 
a nail file as if she had put it down hurriedly before 
going out to serve supper to the men. Marian, then, 
had not stolen home to pack things for the journey, as 
Jerry had declared a woman would do. Bud sent a 
lingering glance around the room and closed the door. 
Hope was still with him, but it was darkened now 
with doubts. 


232 Cow-Country 

In the kitchen again he hesitated, wanting his guitar 
and mandolin and yet aware of the foolishness of bur- 
dening himself with them now. Food was a different 
matter, however. Dave owed him for more than three 
weeks of hard work in the hayfield, so Bud collected 
from the pantry as much as he could carry, and left 
the house like a burglar. 

Pop was fiddling with the mower that stood in front 
of the machine shed, plainly waiting for whatever 
might transpire. And since the bunk-house door was 
in plain view and not so far away as Bud wished it, 
he went boldly over to the old man, carrying his plun- 
der on his shoulder. 

Dave owes me for work. Pop, so I took what 
grub I needed,” he explained with elaborate candor. 
“ I ’ll show you what I ’ve got, so you ’ll know I ’m 
not taking anything that I ’ve no right to.” He set 
down the sack, opened it and looked up into what 
appeared to be the largest-muzzled six-shooter he had 
ever seen in his life. Sheer astonishment held him 
there gaping, half stooped . over the sack. 

“No ye don’t, young feller!” Pop snarled vindic- 
tively. “ Yuh think I ’d let a horse thief git off ’n 
this ranch whilst I ’m able to pull a trigger? You fork 
over that money you got on ye, first thing yuh do! 
It ’s mine by rights — I told yuh I ’d help ye to win 
money off ’n the valley crowd, and I done it. An’ 
what does you do? Never pay a mite of attention to 
me after I ’d give ye all the inside workin’s of the 
game — never offer to give me my share — no, by 
Christmas, you go steal a horse of my son’s and hide 
him out somewheres, and go lose mighty near all I 
helped yuh win, playin’ poker I Think I ’m goin’ to 


“Pick Your Footing!” 233 

Stand for that? Think two hundred dollars is goin' 
to even things up when I helped ye to win a fortune? 
Hand over that fifty you got on yuh ! ” 

Very meekly, his face blank, Bud reached into his 
pocket and got the money. Without a word he pulled 
two or three dollars in silver from his trousers pockets 
and added that to the lot. Now what? he wanted 
to know. 

“ Now you ’ll wait till Dave gits here to hang yuh 
fer horse-stealing!” shrilled Pop. ‘‘Jerry! Oh, 
Jerry! Where be yuh? I got ^im, by Christmas — I 
got the horse thief — caught him carry in’ good grub 
right outa the house ! ” 

“Look out, Jerry!” called Bud, glancing quickly 
toward the bunk-house. 

Now, Pop had without doubt been a man difficult 
to trick in his youth, but he was old, and he was ex- 
cited, tickled over his easy triumph. He turned to see 
what was wrong with Jerry. 

“ Look out. Pop, you old fool, you ’ll bust a blood- 
vessel if you don’t quiet down,” Bud censured mock- 
ingly, wresting the gun from the clawing, struggling 
old man in his arms. He was surprised at the strength 
and agility of Pop, and though he was forcing him 
backward step by step into the machine shed, and 
knew that he was master of the situation, he had his 
hands full. ' 

“ Wildcats is nothing to Pop when he gets riled,” 
Jerry grinned, coming up on the run. “ I kinda ex- 
pected something like this. What yuh want done with 
him. Bud? ” 

“ Gag him so he can’t holler his head off, and then 
take him along — when I ’ve got my money back,” 


2 34 Cow-Country 

Bud panted. Pop, you ’re about as appreciative as 
a buck Injun.” 

Going to be hard to pack him so he ’ll ride,” Jerry 
observed quizzically when Pop, bound and gagged, 
lay glaring at them behind the bunk-house. “ He don’t 
quite balance your two grips. Bud. And we do need 
that grub.” 

“ You bring the grub — I ’ll take Pop — ” Bud 
stopped in the act of lifting the old man and listened. 
Honey’s voice was calling Pop, with embellishments 
which Bud would never have believed a part of 
Honey’s vocabulary. From her speech, she was com- 
ing after him, and Pop’s jaws worked frantically be- 
hind Bud’s handkerchief. 

Jerry tilted his head toward the luggage he had 
made a second trip for, picked up Pop, clamped his 
hand over the mouth that was trying to betray them, 
and slipped away through the brush, glancing once over 
his shoulder to make sure that Bud was following 
him. 

They reached the safe screen of branches and 
stopped there for a minute, listening to Honey’s vitu- 
perations and her threats of what she would do to Pop 
if he did not come up and start a fire. 

She stopped, and hoof beats sounded from the main 
road. Dave and his men were coming. 

In his heart Bud thanked Little Lost for that hidden 
path through the bushes. He heard Dave asking 
Honey what was the matter with her, heard the un- 
womanly reply of the girl, heard her curse Pop for 
his neglect of the kitchen stove at that hour of the 
morning. Heard, too, her questioning of Dave. Had 
they found Bud, or Marian? 


“Pick Your Footing!” 235 

** If you got ^em together, and did n^t string ’em 
both up to the nearest tree — ” 

Bud bit his lip and went on, his face aflame with 
rage at the brutishness of a girl he had half respected. 
“ Honey ! ” he whispered contemptuously. ‘‘ What a 
name for that little beast ! ” 

At the rocks Eddie was waiting with Stopper, upon 
whom they hurriedly packed the beds and Bud’s lug- 
gage. They spoke in whispers when they spoke at 
all, and to insure the horse’s remaining quiet Eddie 
had tied a cotton rope snugly around its muzzle. 

“ I ’ll take Pop,” Bud whispered, but Jerry shook 
his head and once more shouldered the old fellow as 
he would carry a bag of grain. So they slipped back 
down the trail, took a turn which Bud did not know, 
and presently Bud found that Jerry was keeping 
straight on. Bud made an Indian sign on the chance 
that Jerry would understand it, and with his free 
hand Jerry replied. He was taking Pop somewhere. 
They were to wait for him when they had reached the 
horses. So they separated for a space. 

** This is sure a great country for hideouts, Mr. 
Birnie,” Eddie ventured when they had put half a 
mile between themselves and Little Lost, and had 
come upon Smoky, Sunfish and Eddie’s horse feeding 
quietly in a tiny, spring- watered basin half surrounded 
with rocks. “If you know the country you can keep 
dodgin’ sheriffs all your life — if you just have grub 
enough to last.” 

“ Looks to me as if there are n’t many wasted op- 
portunities here,” Bud answered with some irony. “ Is 
there an honest man in the whole country, Ed ? I ’d 
just like to know.” 


236 Cow-Country 

Eddie hesitated, his eyes anxiously trying to read 
Bud’s meaning and his mood. “ Not right around the 
Sinks, I guess,” he replied truthfully. “ Up at Crater 
there are some, and over to Jumpoff. But I guess this 
valley would be called pretty tough, all right. It ’s so 
full of caves and queer places it kinda attracts the 
ones that want to hide out.” Then he grinned. “ It ’s 
lucky for you it ’s like that, Mr. Birnie, or I don’t 
see how you ’d get away. Now I can show you how 
to get clear away from here without getting caught. 
But I guess we ought to have breakfast first. I ’m 
pretty hungry. Ain’t you? I can build a fire against 
that crack in the ledge over there, and the smoke will 
go away back underneath so it won’t show. There ’s a 
blow-hole somewhere that draws smoke like a chimney.” 

Jerry came after a little, sniffing bacon. He threw 
himself down beside the fire and drew a long breath. 
‘‘ That old skunk ’s heavier than what you might 
think,” he observed whimsically. I packed him down 
into one of them sink holes and untied his feet and left 
him to scramble out best way he can. It ’ll take him 
longer ’n it took me. Having the use of your hands 
helps quite a lot. And the use of your mouth to 
cuss a little. But he ’ll make it in an hour or two — 
I ’m afraid.” He looked at Bud, a half-shamed ten- 
derness in his eyes. It sure was hard to leave him 
like I did. It was like walking on your toes past a 
rattler curled up asleep somewhere, afraid you might 
spoil his nap. Only Pop was n’t asleep.” He sat up 
and reached his hand for a cup of coffee which Eddie 
was offering. “ Anyway, I had the fun of telling the 
old devil what I thought about him,” he added, and 
blew away the steam and took another satisfying nip. 


“Pick Your Footing I” 237 

“ He ’ll put them on our trail, I suppose,” said Bud, 
biting into a ragged piece of bread with a half-burned 
slice of hot bacon on it. 

When he gets to the ranch he will. His poison 
fangs was sure loaded when I left. He said he wanted 
to cut your heart out for robbing him, and so forth, 
ad swearum. We ’d best not leave any trail.” 

“We ain’t going to,” Eddie assured him eagerly. 
“ I ’m glad being with the Catrockers is going to do 
some good, Mr. Birnie. It ’ll help you git away, and 
that ’ll help find Sis. I guess she hit down where you 
live, maybe. How far can your horse travel to-day 
— if he has to? ” 

Bud looked across to where Sunfish, having rolled 
in a wet spot near the spring and muddied himself to 
his satisfaction, was greedily at work upon a patch 
of grass. “If he has to, till he drops in his tracks. 
And that won’t be for many a mile, kid. He ’s thor- 
oughbred; a thoroughbred never knows when to quit.” 

“ Well, there ain’t any speedy trail ahead of us to- 
day,” Eddie vouchsafed cheeringly. “ There ’s half 
a mile maybe where we can gallop, and the rest is a 
case of picking your footing.” 

“ Let ’s begin picking it, then,” said Bud, and got up, 
reaching for his bridle. 

By devious ways it was that Eddie led them out of 
that sinister country surrounding the Sinks. In the 
beginning Bud and Jerry exchanged glances, and 
looked at their guns, believing that it would be through 
Catrock Canyon they would have to ride. Eddie, rid- 
ing soberly in the lead, had yet a certain youthful sense 
of his importance. “ They ’ll never think of follow- 
ing yuh this way, unless old Pop Truman gits back in 


238 Cow-Country 

time to tell ^em I ’m travelling with yuh” he observed 
once when they had penetrated beyond the neighbor- 
hood of caves and blow-holes and were riding safely 
down a canyon that offered few chances of their being 
observed save from the front, which did not concern 
them. 

I guess you don’t know old Pop is about the ring- 
leader of the Catrockers. Er he was, till he began to 
git kinda childish about hoarding money, and then 
Dave stepped in. And Mr. Birnie, I guess you ’d have 
been dead when you first came there, if it had n’t been 
that Dave and Pop wanted to give you a chance to get 
a lot of money off of Jeff’s bunch. Lew was telling 
how you kept cleaning up, and he said right along that 
they was taking too much risk having you around. 
Lew said he bet you was a detective. Are you, Mr. 
Birnie? ” 

Bud was riding with his shoulders sagged forward, 
his thoughts with Marian — wherever she was. He 
had been convinced that she was not at Little Lost, that 
she had started for Laramie. But now that he was 
away from that evil spot his doubts returned. What 
if she were still in the neighborhood — what if they 
found her? Memory of Honey’s vindictiveness made 
him shiver. Honey was the kind of woman who would 
kill. 

I am, from now on, kid,” he said despondently. 

We ’re going to ride till we find your sister. And 
if those hell-hounds got her — ” 

“ They did n’t, from the way Honey talked,” Jerry 
comforted. ‘‘We ’ll find her at Laramie, don’t you 
ever think we won’t ! ” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 
Trails End 

At the last camp, just north of the Platte, Bud’s 
two black sheep balked. Bud himself, worn by sleep- 
less nights and long hours in the saddle, turned furi- 
ously when Jerry announced that he guessed he and 
Ed would n’t go any farther. 

Well, damn you both for ungrateful hounds!” 
grated Bud, hurt to the quick. “ I hope you don’t 
think I brought you this far to help hold me in the 
saddle; I made it north alone, without any mishap. I 
think I could have come back all right. But if you 
want to quit here, all right. You can high-tail it back 
to your outlaws — ” 

“ Well, if you go ’n put it that way ! ” Jerry expostu- 
lated, lifting both hands high in the air in a vain at- 
tempt to pull the situation toward the humorous. 

You ’re a depity sheriff, and you got the drop.” He 
grinned, saw that Bud’s eyes were still hard and his 
mouth unyielding, and lowered his hands, looking 
crestfallen as a kicked pup that had tried to be friendly. 

“ You can see for yourself we ain’t fit to go ’n meet 
your mother and your father like we was — like we ’d 
went straight,” Eddie put in explanatorily. You ’ve 
been raised good, and — say, it makes a man want to 


240 Cow-Country 

he good to see how a feller don’t have to be no preacher 
to live right. But it don’t seem square to let you take 
us right home with you, just because you ’re so darned 
kind you ’d do it and never think a thing about it. We 
ain’t ungrateful — I know I ain’t. But — but — ” 

“ The kid’s said it, Bud,” Jerry came to the rescue. 
“We come along because it was a ticklish trip you had 
ahead. And I ’ve knowed as good riders as you are, 
that could stand a little holding in the saddle when some 
freak had tried to shoot ’em out of it. But you ’re 
close to home now and you don’t need us no more, and 
so we ain’t going to horn in on the prodigal calf’s milk- 
bucket. Marian, she ’s likely there — ” 

“If Sis ain’t with your folks we ’ll hunt her up,” 
Eddie interrupted eagerly. “ Sis is your kind — she 
— she ’s good enough for yuh. Bud, and I hope she — 
if she ’s got any sense she ’ll — well, if it comes to the 
marrying point, I — well, dam it, I ’d like to see Sis 
git as good a man as you are ! ” Eddie, having blun- 
dered that far, went headlong as if he were afraid to 
stop. “ Sis is educated, and she ’s an awful good 
singer and a fine girl, only I ’m her brother. But I ’m 
going to live honest from now on. Bud, and I hope you 
won’t hold off on account of me. I ain’t going to have 
Sis feel like cryin’ when she thinks about me ! You — 
you — said something that hurt like a knife. Bud, when 
you told me that, up in Crater. And she was n’t to 
blame for marryin’ Lew — and she done that outa 
goodness, the kind you showed to Jerry and me. And 
we don’t want to go spoilin’ everything by letting your 
folks see what you ’re bringin’ home with yuh ! And it 
might hurt Sis with your folks, if they found out that 
I’m — ” 


Trails End 


241 


Bud had been standing by his horse, looking from 
one to the other, listening, watching their faces, meas- 
uring the full depth of their manhood. “ Say ! you 
remind me of a story the folks tell on me,'’ he said, 
his eyes shining, while his voice strove to make light 
of it all. Once, when I was a kid in pink aprons, I 
got lost from the trail-herd my folks were bringing up 
from Texas. It was cornin’ dark, and they had the 
whole outfit out hunting me, and everybody scared to 
death. When they were all about crazy, they claim I 
came walking up to the camp-fire dragging a dead snake 
by the tail, and carrying a horn toad in my shirt, and 
claiming they were mine because I ‘ ketched ’em.’ 
I ’m not branding that yarn with any moral — but 
figure it out for yourself, boys.” 

The two looked at each other and grinned. “ I ain’t 
dead' yet,” Eddie made sheepish comment. Mebbe 
you kinda look on me as being a horn toad. Bud.” 

When you bear in mind that my folks raised that 
kid, you ’ll realize that it takes a good deal to stampede 
mother.” Bud swung into the saddle to avoid sub- 
jecting his emotions to the cramped, inadequate limita- 
tions of speech. “ Let ’s go, boys. She ’s a long trail 
to take the kinks out of before supper-time.” 

They stood still, making no move to follow. Bud 
reined Smoky around so that he faced them, reached 
laboriously into that mysterious pocket of a cow- 
puncher’s trousers which is always held closed by the 
belt of his chaps, and which invariably holds in its 
depths the things he wants in a hurry. They watched 
him curiously, resolutely refusing to interpret his bit 
of autobiography, wondering perhaps why he did not 

go- 


242 


Cow-Country 

“ Here she is.” Bud had disinterred the deputy- 
sheriiY’s badge, and began to polish it by the primitive 
but effectual method of spitting on it and then rubbing 
it vigorously on his sleeve. You ’re outside of Crater 
County, but by thunder you ’re both guilty of resisting 
an officer, and county lines don’t count!” He had 
pinned the badge at random on his coat while he was 
speaking, and now, before the two realized what he was 
about, he had his six-shooter out and aimed straight 
at them. 

Bud had never lived in fear of the law. Instantly 
he was sorry when he saw the involuntary stiffening of 
their muscles, the quick wordless suspicion and defiance 
that sent their eyes in shifty glances to right and left 
before their hands lifted a little. Trust him, love him 
as they might, there was that latent fear of capture 
driven deep into their souls; so deep that even he had 
not erased it. 

Bud saw — and so he laughed. 

I ’ve got to show my folks that I ’ve made a gath- 
ering,” he said. “ You can’t quit, boys. And I ’m go- 
ing to take you to the end of the trail, now you ’ve 
started.” He eyed them, saw that they were still stub- 
born, and drew in his breath sharply, manfully meeting 
the question in their minds. 

“ We ’ve left more at the Sinks than the gnashing of 
teeth,” he said whimsically. ‘‘ A couple of bad names, 
for instance. You ’re two bully good friends of mine, 
and — damn it, Marian will want to see both of you 
fellows, if she’s there. If she isn’t — we’ll maybe 
have a big circle to ride, finding her. I ’ll need you, no 
matter what ’s ahead.” He looked from one to the 
other, gave a snort and added impatiently, “ Aw, fork 


Trails End 


243 

your horses and don’t stand there looking like a couple 
of damn fools ! ” 

Whereupon Jerry shook his head dissentingly, 
grinned and gave Eddie so emphatic an impulse toward 
his horse that the kid went sprawling. 

“ Guess we ’re up against it, all right — but I do wish 
you’d lose that badge!” Jerry surrendered, and 
flipped the bridle reins over the neck of his horse. 

Horn toad is right, the way you ’re scabbling around 
amongst them rocks,” he called light-heartedly' to the 
kid. “ Ever see a purtier sunrise? I never! ” 

I don’t know what they thought of the sunset. 
Gorgeous it was, with many soft colors blended into 
unnamable tints and translucencies, and the songs of 
birds in the thickets as they passed. Smoky, Sunfish and 
Stopper walked briskly, ears perked forward, heads 
up, eyes eager to catch the familiar landmarks that 
meant home. Bud’s head was up, also, his eyes went 
here and there, resting with a careless affection on those 
same landmarks which spelled home. He would have 
let Smoky’s reins have a bit more slack and would have 
led his little convoy to the corrals at a gallop, had not 
hope begun to tremble and shrink from meeting cer- 
tainty face to face. Had you asked him then, I think 
Bud would have owned himself a coward. Until he 
had speech with home-folk he would merely be hoping 
that Marian was there; but until he had speech with 
them he need not hear that they knew nothing of her. 
Bud-like, however, he tried to cover his trepidation with 
a joke. 

We ’ll sneak up on ’em,” he said to Ed and Jerry 
when the roofs of house and stables came into view. 


244 


Cow-Country 

** Here ’s where I grew up, boys. And in a minute or 
two more you ’ll see the greatest little mother on earth 
— and the finest dad,” he added, swallowing the last 
of his Scotch stubbornness. 

“ And Sis, I hope,” Eddie said wistfully. “ I sure 
hope she ’s here.” 

Neither Jerry nor Bud answered him at all. Smoky 
threw up his head suddenly and gave a shrill whinny, 
and a horse at the corrals answered sonorously. 

Say ! That sounds to me like Boise ! ” Eddie ex- 
claimed, standing up in his stirrups to look. 

Bud turned pale, then flushed hotly. ‘‘ Don’t holler 
it! ” he muttered, and held Smoky back a little. For 
just one reason a young man’s heart pounds as Bud’s 
heart pounded then. Jerry looked at him, took a deep 
breath and bit his lip thoughtfully. It may be that 
Jerry’s heartbeats were not quite normal just then, but 
no one would ever know. 

They rode slowly to a point near the corner of the 
stable, and there Bud halted the two with his lifted 
hand. Bud was trembling a little — but he was smil- 
ing, too. Eddie was frankly grinning, Jerry’s face was 
the face of a good poker-player — it told nothing. 

In a group with their backs to them stood three: 
Marian, Bud’s mother and his father. Bob Birnie 
held Boise by the bridle, and the two women were 
stroking the brown nose of the horse that moved un- 
easily, with little impatient head-tossings. 

He does n’t behave like a horse that has made the 
long trip he has made,” Bud’s mother observed admir- 
ingly. ‘‘ You must be a wonderful little horsewoman, 
my dear, as well as a wonderful little woman in every 
other way. Buddy should never have sent you on such 


Trails End 


245 

a trip — just to bring home money, like a bank mes- 
senger ! But I ^m glad that he did ! And I do wish 
you would consent to stay — such an afternoon with 
music I have n’t had since Buddy left us. You could 
stay with me and train for the concert work you intend 
doing. I ’m only an old ranch woman in a slat sun- 
bonnet — but I taught my Buddy — and have you 
heard him? ” 

“ An old woman in a slat sunbonnet — oh, how can 
you ? Why, you ’re the most wonderful woman in the 
whole world ! ” Marian’s voice was almost tearful in 
its protest. ‘‘Yes — I have heard — your Buddy. 
But — ” 

“ ’T is the strangest way to go about selling a horse 
that I ever saw,” Bob Birnie put in dryly, smoothing his 
beard while he looked at them. “ We ’d be glad to have 
you stay, lass. But you ’ve asked me to place a price 
on the horse, and I should like to ask ye a question or 
two. How fast did ye say he could run ? ” 

Marian laid an arm around the shoulders of the old 
lady in a slat sunbonnet and patted her arm while she 
answered. 

“ Well, he beat everything in the country, so they re- 
fused to race against him, until Bud came with his 
horses,” she replied. “ It took Sunfish to outrun him. 
He ’s terribly fast, Mr. Birnie. I — really, I think he 
could beat the world’s record — if Bud rode him ! ” 

Just here you should picture Ed and Jerry with their 
hands over their mouths, and Bud wanting to hide his 
face with his hat. 

Bob Birnie’s beard behaved oddly for a minute,, while 
he leaned and stroked Boise’s flat forelegs, that told of 
speed. “ Wee-11,” he hesitated, soft-heartedness bat- 


246 Cow-Country 

tling with the horse-buyer’s keenness, since Bud isna 
here to ride him, he ’ll make a good horse for the round- 
up. I ’ll give ye ” — more battling — ‘‘a hundred and 
fifty dollars for him, if ye care to sell — ” 

“ Here, wait a minute before you sell to that old 
skinflint ! ” Bud shouted exuberantly, dismounting 
with a rush. The rush, I may say, carried him to the 
little old lady in the slat sunbonnet, and to that other 
little lady who was staring at him with wide, bright 
eyes. Bud’s arms went around his mother. Perhaps 
by accident he gathered in Marian also — they were 
standing very close, and his arms were very long — 
and he was slow to discover his mistake. 

‘‘ I ’ll give you two hundred for Boise, and I ’ll 
throw in one brother, and one long-legged, good-for- 
nothing cowpuncher — ” 

“ Meaning yourself. Buddy? ” came teasingly from 
the slat sunbonnet, whose occupant had not been told 
just everything. “ I ’ll be surprised if she ’ll have you, 
with that dirty face and no shave for a week and more. 
But if she does, you ’re luckier than you deserve, for 
riding up on us like this ! We ’ve heard all about you, 
Buddy — though you were wise to send this lassie to 
gild your faults and make a hero of you ! ” 

Now, you want to know how Marian managed to 
live through that. I will say that she discovered how 
tenaciously a young man’s arms may cling when he 
thinks he is embracing merely his mother ; but she freed 
herself and ran to Eddie, fairly pulled him off his horse, 
and talked very fast and incoherently to him and Jerry, 
asking question after question without waiting for a 
reply to any of them. All this, I suppose, in the hope 
that they would not hear, or, hearing, would not under- 


Trails End 


247 

Stand what that terrible, wonderful little woman was 
saying so innocently. 

But you cannot faze youth. Eddie had important 
news for Sis, and he felt that now was the time to tell 
it before Marian blushed any redder, so he pulled her 
face up to his, put his lips so close to her ear that his 
breath tickled, and whispered — without any preface 
whatever that she could marry Bud any time now, be- 
cause she was a widow. 

“ Here ! Somebody — Bud — quick ! Sis has 
fainted ! Doggone it, I only told her Lew ’s dead and 
she can marry you — shucks ! I thought she *d be 
glad!’^ 

Down on the Staked Plains, on an evening much like 
the evening when Bud came home with his ** stake ” 
and his hopes and two black sheep who were becoming 
white as most of us, a camp-fire began to crackle and 
wave smoke ribbons this way and that before it burned 
steadily under the supper pots of a certain hungry, 
happy group which you know. 

It ’s somewhere about here that I got lost from 
camp when I was a kid,’' Bud observed, tilting back his 
hat and lifting a knee to snap a dry stick over it. 

Mother 'd know, I bet. I kinda wish we ’d brought 
her and dad along with us. That 's about eighteen 
years ago they trailed a herd north — and here we are, 
taking our trail-herd north on the same trail ! I kinda 
wish now I ’d picked up a bunch of yearling heifers 
along with our two-year-olds. We could have brought 
another hundred head just as well as not. They 
sure drive nice. Mother would have enjoyed this 
trip.” 


248 Cow-Country 

“ You think so, do you ? ’’ Marian gave him a supe- 
rior little smile along with the coffee-boiler. “ If 
you ’d heard her talk about that trip north when there 
were n’t any men around listening, you ’d change your 
mind. Bud Birnie, you are the simplest creature! 
You think, because a woman doesn’t make a fuss over 
things, she doesn’t mind. Your mother told me that 
trip was a perfect nightmare. She taught you music just 
in the hope that you ’d go back to civilization and 
live there where there are some modern improvements, 
and she could visit you ! And here you are — all 
wrapped up in a bunch of young stock, dirty as 
a pig and your whiskers — owl Bud! Stop that 
immediately, or I’ll go put my face in a cactus just 
for relief ! ” 

** Maybe you ’re dissatisfied yourself with my bunch 
of cattle. Maybe you did n’t go in raptures over our 
claim and make more plans in a day than four men 
could carry out in a year. Maybe you wish your hus- 
band was a man that was content to pound piano keys 
all his life and let his hair grow long instead of his 
whiskers. If you hate this, why didn’t you say so, 
lady? ” 

“ I was speaking,” said Marian as dignifiedly as was 
possible, “ of your mother. She was raised in civiliza- 
tion, and she has simply made the best of pioneering all 
her married life. I was born and raised in cow-country 
and I love it. As I said before, you are the simplest 
creature ! Would you really bring a father and mother 
on a honeymoon trail — especially when the bride 
did n’t want them, and they would much rather stay 
at home? ” 

Hey! ” cried Eddie disgustedly, coming up from a 


Trails End 


249 


shallow creek with a bucket of water and a few dry- 
sticks. “ The coffee ’s upset and putting the fire out ! 
Gee whiz ! Can’t you folks quit love-makin’ and tend 
to business long enough to cook a meal? ” 


THE END 






tei;^ '^-i 




»' l.« 




A' 










^ ,» 


I ’ • ■ * » \» • % I . 

-' '' ■-. ,'\>: ■/ > • V , /.. 

« i. v , - • . , , 

1 ': : '^ '■ ./'* ’•’ 

• ' " ■' ' 


.J...V 







:r,V 


U <<> 'I 


■■ ■ T h* ' •. . ' 'i'lri' '■> 

^ ■* ' .^. •■■ Vt'i 

• .' I, / .* .•* ■« 


'5 ji!<i '-f ’.'ifflBff - ' '"^ 



' ’ 1 ' • ‘ ‘ • t . r ^ . 


< ‘i» 


» <' 

iJlTtil 


/ • 


V 




k\ 'i 


‘l‘ i • ’ *'■■ ■ •</.', * 


;.'u.;r 


> V>- J . 





'.. .1 


» » A 


I f* , / • 


■ , , .. '■; ;• J.,- 





V 




Spli?, 




m 


T-J. •-»* 


) • 


Vt^ 




' v..vv ,A ' • 

••')' ♦ ' ■ ■ I 




i 1 



:>/ v;. 


' *• * • 

' l^.'V- ' ■ ■ V ' / 

■ k'VP' » 

^ ^ i 1 ft # 4** ^ ^ 1’ * 


■ ' 

V ^ f**^ 'Mk&^’vnT \ 



'b\< w; ^ ,v, V' 


!',' V. r 

jii *- i-i 


> ‘ .'/J* ■,;/'* *Wj 



*/ . • •■ ^ ' JJpWavf r .» j'w**»5f3 




• -/ ' , '•• ..' t f 







o 


4 . 


' P' -r •'■ • ■ . ^'/V■p::^\III • /' (P'V'PP*®. 


.>L 










ft 

JVW. QS. / ... ^ 

^ - K, ^ SXV - y 

’ c”" “»;•%. * .■j>\”'''* ''b c “ " ‘ 

'. "^A >■*■ : im^'^ - ■^o^ = '. "^A 


♦ v> ■^- 

•^ . V 



^ o * 



^ . 1*5 

. , %, ' * »T" ’ * " » 7 ,' . » ' <o’’ 

C-, \> »'*», -> , 9 ^ c- 

'-«» V ■>\ii^%.\ 7f. «, 

^ ;■ -* 

" '■ -^rf. ''.^#1™.^* oV' *?■ • 

■'' 0 « X . 0 

0^ .^'1. 



0-^^oKc, ,7 




o 



0 X 


/ A., 


W ^ ^ K) 

^ > iy^<^ '7 

^ I ^ -' -<;^ 

^ A^^’ '^7>. o " <1*5 

o V -■ ■> ^ 'V <i> V^^\F ^ ^ 

^ o . 0 . /<^' ' . . o ^ ^ ^ ^ ;,o^ „ , ^ 

• „ ^ • §m^^ ' o o' = ^7^ 

. 0 o rivvA » ft f; 

.^0'’ *^0 . ''a 




« ^ f> K 

*-% cO '/'’"" 

3 ^ : o '* f - V'i 

= o-S t. r te®'' 

c 5 ^ ' '■^ * 

^ 0 ^ * 8 , ^ 

v > ^ ' “ » / ^ " 

V. <;i' /V ^ 

‘V « ‘I ., ^ 

^ \V ^ 






sc ’ ~ " v>\ - » . ' 







V t 


o 


G 







'X 


1 1 


.0 


.0 





• y. « <a> ri^ 

s. , , “S' s « ■ \^ ^ * 0 '*'8 1' 

'^.atd'i^' “S. V ') ''^ 




, \."'o..^ jy- 

cP ’ ^ 

^ ^ o ' 

ly 





V 


\ 






\ *» o ^ ® ' ' o"^ s 



0 ^ K 


^ .-’f 


o o ' 



ty ^ ^ 


■<C' 



O 


<3 

z 

% 

z 


•>^i 

o 



S 'S 

% V V ^ 




t/' v\^* 

cT^ 



>!> a '^ 

-a r *> 


V » fi 


0 J> V 



.0 o 








- vJv' 







i\ aa 


0 X 




. c >^% 

V 





8 1 ' N.'' ^ ^ ’ N 

. 0 ' ^ ^ 

A • ^ €§ W 0 ^ ^ 




VNV \ '-^ O -V 

A *" ■ '^v * 

, , - ' Ootc -’ x #' « 

0 ‘ ^ C* \' 8 -^ ®/- 

it W „ _ 

■" ‘ ' >, 5 <f ///) O 

'“7 .,. 

^ ' a\ - V I b . f ^ (yT 

“ ■^' '-iP v' ^ -' °-^ cP • 

.M ^ ^ 

o o ' 



</> 





0 


N 


ri^. 




